


Mr Wakefield Returns.

by springburn



Series: Random musings from The Capaldi character file. [7]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Mr Wakefield's Crusade
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mystery, Peter Capaldi character file, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-18 13:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 25,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4706936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springburn/pseuds/springburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU story which fuses Luke Wakefield with Clara Oswald.<br/>There is no other Dr. Who involvement.<br/>Luke Wakefield is fabulously wealthy, he is also lonely, and has absolutely nothing to do with his time......so he regularly visits the Library. The librarian is a sweet old lady who has a soft spot for him.<br/>Then one day, one ordinary, normal day, everything in his life is turned upside down.......</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write a Luke Wakefield story for sometime. Initially I thought that Luke and Richard would continue as a couple after the 'Crusade' ended. However, since re-evaluating, I've decided that may not be the case. Yes, Luke is somewhat effete, even feminine in some respects, but that doesn't necessarily make him gay, so this will be a story exploring that.  
> Peter was 33 when he made Mr Wakefield's Crusade in 1991, it aired in '92. Jenna as Clara is 29, so the perfect age and the perfect foil as a pairing.  
> I don't have the story completely mapped out yet, so we are all on a wing and a prayer here!!
> 
> I've added this to the 'Random Musings from the Capaldi character file' even though it is a full length story.

Opening Scene.

Sometimes the days seemed interminably long.  
Surrounded by all the trappings of luxury, but with nothing to do, no real purpose.   
Human contact.   
Whether it was his weekly jaunt to the post office, on a Tuesday........a dog walker in the park, the nice lady at the coffee shop, who always gave him a free biscotti......anyone really, that was what he was searching for.  
All he really needed.  
Richard had come into his life following his 'Crusade.'  
Strange, how they'd been drawn together.   
But it didn't last.  
Evenings spent by the fire, drinking scotch, talking.  
They'd held hands, it was sweet and tender. Richard hugged and kissed him, he'd kissed back.  
Still he wasn't sure.  
Was this what he'd been looking for?   
A part of him always held back.  
Kept at arms length.  
Richard said he was denying his true self, but he remained unconvinced.   
Surely he was supposed to feel something?   
He didn't.  
Even with Connie, his ex-wife, he'd experienced a spark of reaction, a little frisson, a fluttering in his tummy, a sensation of delight, but with Richard?   
Nothing.   
So Richard left, under a cloud. Threw a fit. Stormed out.  
The only good that came out of it, was that he managed to kill off Connie, psychologically, bury her, more deeply and surely than he had ever done, and hopefully she would remain that way, to trouble him no more.   
Luke then did what he usually did in situations that proved to much for him.....he ran.   
Ran to the safety of the private Clinic on the South Coast.  
There, he felt cocooned, protected from the world.  
His doctor was sick of him, he was sure, but while they could take his money, they would help him.  
Provide him with a safe haven, a port in the storm.  
Until he felt he could cope with life again.   
On his own. 

Near his home, just a pleasant stroll away, was the Library.  
Luke took to visiting it regularly.  
It was a feast for the senses.  
Built in the 1920's, it exuded the delights of a bygone era.  
Wooden panelling. Walnut book shelves. Tiffany lampshades.  
Parquet flooring, with a shiny patina from thousands of footsteps.   
Beautiful desks and leather upholstered chairs.  
It boasted a reading room, with green arc lamps, and the daily newspapers spread out for perusal.   
A time warp.   
Bees-Wax polish, the scent of old books, a delicious tobacco aroma that hung in the air and assaulted the nostrils.   
No smoking now, of course, but the odour would never disappear completely, the accumulation of years of Woodbines and pipes, and tweed suits.  
There was a gentility about it that Luke loved, a decadence that appealed to his effete sensibilities.   
Of course, he could easily read a book at home, in his penthouse.  
But this was so much nicer, he could sit, comfortably, surrounded by other silent, discerning customers, turning the pages of an old musty tome, and be encircled, held in the comforting arms of a lost world of Agatha Christie, or Virginia Woolf, or Dorothy L Sayers.   
It made him happy. 

On a particularly wet and dismal Wednesday, Luke entered the Puginesque foyer in a flurry of raindrops, spilling from his drenched umbrella.   
He shook it vigorously outside the circular swing door, before entering and placing it upright in the brass umbrella stand beside the reception desk.   
A school party were in.   
Excited children, chattering happily, no more than five or six years old.   
Soon to discover the treasure trove that was to be found inside a good book.   
He smiled to himself, recalling his own, solitary childhood, when books were his best friends.   
Somewhere out there, his ex wife and her lesbian panel beater partner, with a little one.   
His namesake.   
How old would he be now? Two? Two and a half?   
Sadness enveloped him like a wet blanket.......he shrugged off his damp cashmere overcoat and hung it on the coat rack by the door.   
Tried to push the image from his mind.   
Mustn't go there. In the past.  
Straightening his Paisley silk scarf he made his way up the grand staircase to the Library proper.   
On the ground floor was a Barista coffee shop.....a relatively new addition.   
He supposed they had to move with the times......and it was all done rather tastefully.   
Perhaps he would try it out......later.   
Walking towards the desk where the elderly librarian usually sat, he ran his fingers through his thick shock of hair.  
The experiment of dying it blonde, had turned it rather more towards the ginger.....not a total success, and not one that would be repeated.   
Luke liked the librarian, she was like a friendly grandmother, one that he never had.   
Spectacles on a gold chain. A fluffy cardigan. Cameo broach. Grey hair in a bun........   
He looked up.  
Straight into a pair of possibly the most beautiful deep brown eyes, he'd ever seen........


	2. Miss Briggs.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke is knocked sideways by the change of librarian.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I now have my plot devised for this story, and hopefully, barring disaster, famine and pestulance I will crack on and get it going!

MISS BRIGGS.

For a few seconds he was floored. Struck dumb.  
He stared, unabashed.  
Mouth open slightly, eyes travelling across her face, taking it in.  
"Can I help?"  
Her smile was broad, little dimples appeared in her cheeks, she tucked a strand of hair behind one ear, as she reddened beneath his intense gaze.   
Luke swallowed....   
Stammered....." You're not Miss Briggs."  
"No," she replied, " I'm Miss Oswald. Filling in."  
"But where's Miss Briggs?"   
He seemed flustered, as if the old lady not being there had somehow upset his entire day.  
"No idea!" She replied with a shrug.   
"So.....how can I help?"   
From a rather smart bag, Luke pulled three books and slid them across the counter top.   
"Returning these."   
Her small hands retrieved the volumes and duly checked and stacked them, ready to be returned to the shelf.   
"Is that all?" Her expression was bright, cheery, almost eager. She handed him back his card.   
"Yes. Yes.....thank you, um, thank you."  
He was backing away from the desk, still clearly out of sorts.   
Sidling towards the reading area, sitting down heavily.

It took a few moments for Luke to collect himself.   
Inside his head was a turmoil.   
Where was Miss Briggs?  
He hated it when things changed without warning.   
Over the period since Richard left him, he'd taken to visiting the library with increasing regularity.   
It's atmosphere was a soothing balm.  
The old lady had been kind.   
Recognised his solitude.  
Struck up a conversation with him.   
Within a fortnight he confided almost all of his relationship tragedies to her.   
"You are too trusting Luke," she'd remarked, "you give too much of yourself, too unguarded."   
But she was so easy to talk to, easier than the Clinic doctor, who could be so patronising to his woes, always looking for something on which to blame his idiosyncrasies.....  
Usually his marriage to Connie.   
The visits became meat and drink to him.   
Better than any therapy.  
Walk in, have a nice chat with Miss Briggs, choose some books, read the papers, perhaps have a coffee, then head home. Highlight of his day.   
She told him a little about herself.   
Unmarried, had a love of her life, who sadly, died and could never quite be replaced.   
Luke reminded her of him, she'd told him, with a sad smile.   
So remained a spinster......never mentioned any family.   
Kept a dog, for company, she said.  
He knew roughly where she lived, she'd mentioned it once in passing.   
Wracked his brain to remember every conversation they'd shared.....  
....selfishly Luke talked mostly about himself. 

She'd listened. 

Not made assumptions. Not judged. 

What had happened he wondered?   
Illness? Holiday?   
He must find out.   
If she was ill he would visit her, take her flowers, return some of the many kindnesses she'd shown him. 

Seated at a reading desk, he stole surreptitious glances at Miss Oswald.  
The usurper.   
Albeit an attractive one.   
She was pretty, but she wasn't Miss Briggs.   
Eventually he could stand it no longer.   
Rising, he returned to the reception area,   
"Excuse me, er, Miss Oswald?"   
She turned, another disarming smile. Her eyebrows raised questioningly.  
"Would any of the other library staff know where Miss Briggs is? Only if she's unwell......"  
"I'll ask if you like. Will you be in again?"  
He nodded vigorously.  
"Oh, yes, I come in here all the time!"   
She looked at him, with an expression that smacked of pity.  
"I see. Okay, I'll see what I can find out, let you know. Are you good friends?"  
"Oh, very......Miss Briggs and I are fast acquaintances, she's a dear person."  
"Alright. I'll do what I can. Mister?....."  
"Wakefield. Luke Wakefield. Thank you, Miss Oswald."  
"Clara. My name is Clara, Miss Oswald is a bit too formal for me."   
Luke smiled what he hoped was a grateful smile, and hurried away.


	3. Clara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little about Clara and why she's at the library.........

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just short chapters at the moment, as we are learning a little more about the characters, and as we ease into the story proper.

CLARA. 

Teaching.   
That was her vocation.   
Well, at least it was......once, maybe it would be again.   
Now she didn't much care.  
The months she'd taken off, after........after the event......  
........passed in a foggy haze of nothingness.   
Listless. Empty.  
Unfocused, barely able to get through each day.  
Somehow she'd dragged herself back from the brink, pretty much by her own efforts, her own phenomenal strength of will.   
Crawled out from under the rock where she'd been hiding.   
Forced herself to carry on.   
Applying for the temp job had been a whim.  
She was overqualified, but it was a simple, easy to cope with job.  
Get up in the morning, go to work, go home at night and forget about it.  
That is what she wanted at the moment.   
No hormonal teenagers, no essay marking, no exams to prep for after hours and no belligerent parents.  
Nor did she want any drama, no complications and definitely no relationships.   
Just a nice quiet employment, that paid the bills and allowed her to forget, just for time.  
It was all she felt she could cope with.   
Work and home.   
Social life was totally out of the question, at least for now, the mere thought of noisy bars, thudding music, inane chat.......no.....couldn't hack it. 

She'd noticed Mr Wakefield.   
As soon as he walked in that first morning.  
He was very tall......well, compared to her almost everyone was.  
Handsome, not classically so, but expressive, striking.   
Thin too.....not painfully, but not much of him. Narrow waist and hips.  
Large hands but such elegant fingers, long and shapely, beautifully manicured finger nails.  
An aesthete.   
He seemed awkward, a little gauche and shy, she thought.  
Interestingly pale, with those startling blue eyes, which seemed to change colour in the light.  
Ridiculous hair.  
He reminded her of a flower, with delicate petals, fresh and scented, washed clean by the rain, easily bruised.

She sighed.  
The day was drawing to a close.  
Clara shook herself from her musings and set about tidying her work area, replacing any stray books, shutting down her computer and thinking of heading home.   
She wondered idly where her predecessor had gone. Away on holiday most like, but she resolved to question her supervisor in the morning.   
Tucking her bag on her shoulder, she switched off the desk lamp and reached for her coat.  
Her co worker called a friendly goodnight, as she tripped lightly down the grand staircase and out through the revolving door. 

Walking briskly.  
It was not far to her little flat.   
A slight drizzle was falling as she rummaged for her keys and let herself in.   
Dismal.  
The place was dismal.  
Every stick of furniture, each cup or mug, every cushion, held some memory, a thought that could make her well up, her eyes to sting, her hands to tremble.  
Over the last month it seemed to improve, but only because she forced the feeling down.   
Tried to bury it.   
Counselling.   
They'd offered her counselling, and she'd agreed, but she wasn't sure it was really helping, it perhaps made the pain just bearable.   
It meant she was able to function, get through the day.   
Coming home each evening, closing the door to the world behind her, it all came flooding back.  
How she wished she could get away.......but it was impossible, she had no money.   
Well, not to spare anyway.   
She knew in her heart that it was time to move on, but somehow she lacked the courage to make that step.   
The bossy, control freak......reduced to this.   
Who would have thought it?


	4. The Phone Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke is confused and upset......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The description of Luke's flat is taken directly from 'Crusade' you can see Kensington Olympia through the windows. Luke's phone trick was shown him by the porter, he uses it several times in 'Crusade' and I'm sure he uses it frequently, particularly when he's out of sorts........he also has a habit of sitting naked in the shower.......

THE PHONE CALL.

With three bags of groceries, the black cab deposited Luke outside the smart door of Kensington West Tower.   
The porter greeted him as he opened the main door.   
"How are yow Mr W?" He asked, in a broad Birmingham accent.  
"I'm well." He replied crisply, and crossed the foyer to the lift, pressing the button and standing back to wait.  
Right to the top.   
Then into his little world. His own domain.   
His apartment was well appointed, with a balcony, full of exotic leafy plants.  
It overlooked the Kensington Olympia.   
The sweeping curve of it's roof, right in his eye line.   
Didn't sit out there much, but it was nice to have it.   
Setting down his shopping bags, he unpacked his assorted delicatessen goodies.  
Opening the drinks cabinet he poured himself a very large scotch.  
Then picked up the phone handset, dialled the first three digits of his number, then the numbers the porter had shown him. He bought his drink to the table and sat down to wait.   
Seconds later the phone rang......

"Hello?" 

..................

"Clara? Darling.....how lovely to hear from you." 

..................

"Oh....I'm fine.....you know me, always terrifically busy, so much to do. Not enough hours in the day!"

..................

"Could I meet you? For dinner? Oh darling you know I'd love to, but I've just got so much on at the moment.....I can't possibly get away."

..................

"Yes. Okay. Maybe another time. So sweet of you to think of me."

.................

"So sweet. Goodbye darling. Toodle pip." 

Luke rang off. Necked the scotch and poured another.   
Then swallowed that straight down too.   
It was beginning.  
He knew it.......he could feel it, he could sense the ache in his chest, welling up.  
Tears began to come.   
Another drink.  
Why did things have to change?   
Just when his little routine had become so firmly established.  
Just as he was beginning to feel comfortable again.....after Richard......after his latest sojourn in the Clinic.  
He'd come home so full of hope, of bonhomie, and it took one little disruption for all the walls to come tumbling down.  
Bloody Miss Briggs.   
Why did she have to go off like that? So suddenly, without so much as a word? Shattering his equilibrium.  
Undressing rapidly he stepped into the shower cubicle, letting the warm water cascade down over his naked body, he sat down on a stool, the spray pouring over him.......and wept. 

Hours later he woke with a jerk.   
Head buzzing, full of scotch.  
Stretched out on the sofa, he hadn't even made it to the bed.   
The empty bottle on the floor beside him.  
Mouth like the inside of a parrots cage......eyes bleary and swollen.   
His reflection stared dolefully back at him in the bathroom mirror.

Don't do this Luke. Not again. 

Just don't do this.   
Pulling his robe tighter around his waist, he made his way to the kitchen, laid a tray, and fetched the cafetière.  
Hot coffee. Croissant. Paracetamol.  
That would make him feel better.   
He must pull himself together, not sink down.   
A new day.   
With exciting new prospects.   
There must be NO sinking down. Optimism.....that's what he would fill his head with.   
This morning he would return to the library, he would find out why Miss Briggs had decided to abandon him.   
Just for his own peace of mind.   
Then he would treat himself to a nice lunch somewhere.   
Yes. That's what he would do.   
He could do that.  
He could.  
He must.


	5. Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke is back at the library, has Clara asked her supervisor about Miss Briggs, and what information has she gleaned.......

SORRY.

With a pile of Romances in her arms, Clara rounded the corner by a set of shelves and almost ran head first into Mr Wakefield.  
He stepped back quickly to avoid her, she sent the books tumbling.   
"SORRY. SORRY. SO SORRY."   
Mortified, he stooped to help her pick them up and they knocked heads.   
"Lord! Oh.....I'm SO sorry."   
She stood up straight, rubbing the bump, a frown on her face.   
"Do stop saying sorry! It was just an accident."   
"Yes! Of course, sorry."   
She raised her eyebrows.   
"Sorry." He ended, lamely.   
"Mr Wakefield.......Luke......I've asked my supervisor about Miss Briggs.....apparently she sent a letter, gone to visit a relative or something."   
"Oh. Oh......right. Right. Well, that's that then."  
He was flustered again, she could tell.   
Expressive brows knitted in confusion.   
If it were possible for him to be paler, then he looked paler!   
"I'm sure she's absolutely fine." Clara offered, by way of comfort.   
"It's just......it's just, that she didn't mention it.......or any relatives come to that." He replied.  
He seemed so at a loss.   
"Perhaps it was sudden, someone taken ill or something? It happens." She smiled.   
"Yes. Yes. I suppose it does." He chewed at the side of his thumb, disconcertedly.   
"But she loved this job so much......I find it hard to imagine she'd just up and leave like that. It seems so odd."  
"Do you know where she lives? Maybe her neighbours could help you.....might be able to tell you where she's gone......."  
"I know roughly.....the street......Winchester Road.......she mentioned it...."   
Luke was thoughtful, he continued quietly, "I wonder what she did with her dog."  
"She has a dog?"  
"Yes, for company, she told me, it's a King Charles I think she said, black and white."   
He let out a deep sigh, and sat down at the desk nearest to him, hands resting on his knees. Clara could sense his barely concealed distress.......she wondered why he should be so het up about a librarian, she didn't believe him when he said he knew her well.   
Why should he be so concerned?   
An over active imagination......that's what it was. The kind of person who always saw the worst. Glass half empty.   
It couldn't be that the old girl had just buggered off to Hastings.....no......it had to be something more......something sinister.   
She decided that despite his rather sweet outward appearance, Luke Wakefield was a bit odd......a misfit, and one that she really didn't want anything to do with.   
"Well, good luck with it." She smiled, none to kindly. "I have to get back to work."   
"Hmmm?" He snapped out of his reverie, he had been staring absently at a fixed point on the floor, deep in thought,  
"Oh. Yes. Sorry, to have troubled you....very sorry......really. And thank you."   
He glanced up at her, eyes wide, watering a little. Clara softened. Why was she being so horrible, so judgemental, it wasn't like her at all?   
"I'm sure she'll be back in no time. Then I'll have to look for another job!"   
She smiled again, meant it this time, and gathering the rest of the books into a pile, moved away, to serve someone at the reception desk.   
He continued to sit there, staring ahead of him, as if deep in thought.  
Then an idea struck her......she reached for the old fashioned cardex at the side of her desk.  
Flicked through with her fingers rapidly.....A......B......Briggs, Agnes 72, Winchester Road W.  
She walked over and stood in front of Luke, looking down.....  
"Look....I shouldn't do this.....but.......it's 72........"  
He raised his eyes slowly, forehead furrowed quizzically.  
"72, Winchester Road.......you didn't get it from me.......and if you're some kind of crazy stalker, I'll get into terrible trouble, so you'd better not be. Go see her, put your mind at rest, or talk to her neighbours......they'll probably tell you she's swanned off to Benidorm. Okay?"   
He slowly reached out one of those exquisite hands, took the scrap of paper from her, where she'd jotted the address.   
Looked at it for some seconds, then back at her face.   
He seemed incredulous.......bewildered that she should do him this kindness.   
"Thank you, Miss Oswald." He whispered.  
"Clara. It's Clara. Now I really do have to get back to work!"


	6. Winchester Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke decides to check out Miss Briggs home address, with a little help from Clara......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luke in his bubble bath is a repeat of a scene from 'Crusade'.....the vision of Luke, naked in a bath, with bubbles up to his ears, is a potent one!!! Lol!!

WINCHESTER ROAD. 

The cabbie was a cheery soul. Chatting away.  
Luke didn't say much in reply, he was too nervous.  
If she was there, would she be angry with him? Butting in like this.......his hand held tightly to the bunch of flowers.  
Oh well, too late now. He was here.  
It was a pleasant street. Tree lined.  
Georgian Terrace, up market.  
Miss Briggs must have a few Bob, to afford to live here........why was she a librarian?  
Maybe she'd inherited it, did the job just to keep her busy.......oh stop it Luke.....  
Stop imagining, speculating.  
Mustn't do it.  
Paying the taxi driver, he walked up the pathway to the shiny black painted front door and rang the bell.  
He glanced up and down the street, some quite posh cars......one a rather nice red sporty number.  
No answer.  
He rang again.  
Nothing.  
Backing up, he stood on the pavement, looking up at the windows. The curtains were pulled back, all looked tranquil and normal, two empty milk bottles on the step.  
Back to the door again, he lifted the brass letter box flap and peered in.  
There were several items of mail on the doormat.  
That was odd.  
Back to the pavement, he was just considering what to do next, when the door of number 74 opened and a smartly dressed lady came out.  
"Can I help you son?"  
Luke smiled, what he hoped was a winning smile, and came to the neat privet hedge that separated the two properties.  
"I was hoping to see Miss Briggs."  
"Not there lovey. Haven't seen hide nor hair of her for a few days." The lady folded her arms across her ample bosom, and scowled.  
"Really annoying, actually, because she didn't tell the milkman and there were 5 pints on the step......silly woman......she must have forgotten."  
"Has she gone away then? Or is she ill ?"  
"Who wants to know?"  
"I'm Luke......a friend from the library......." He tried to look genuine.  
"I see." The woman shifted her gaze to the flowers, grinned slightly, "Well, not that I know of, Ducky. She was perfectly alright when I saw her take the dog out Monday. Wasn't ill then, and not planning to go away that she mentioned to me.......only she usually tells me.....because she likes me to pop in, water the plants......you know, I got a key."  
"Right. Well......right. Thank you.....Mrs?"  
"Wentworth. Mrs. Wentworth......if you see her, tell her, I cancelled the milk, and she owes me seven quid, I paid him for her......you tell her."  
"I will.......and thank you."  
Luke walked briskly away.  
His mind was whirring now.......why would she go away and not tell the neighbour?  
The neighbour she trusted and who held a key to her house.  
Something was definitely fishy.  
If it weren't for the letter she'd apparently written to the Chief Librarian, Luke would think it very fishy indeed.  
His problem now, was, what to do?  
When he'd embarked on his 'Crusade', he'd done a stupid thing.......not gone straight to the Police.  
He ought to have done so right from the start......had Richard been a real killer, he'd probably have been hacked to bits and thrown in a skip before he could say 'Bob's your Uncle'!  
It was a lucky happenstance, that there was no murder......and Richard was nice.  
Luke sighed.  
He was nice......Richard.......gentle.......but when he'd touched Luke that first time.....or rather, tried to, God! he could barely bring himself to think of it. He froze. Just the remembrance of it made him go cold.  
It was the moment he knew......he couldn't......just couldn't go there........not with him, not with any man.  
His feet had carried him unconsciously to a little garden square.  
He entered through a wrought iron gate and sat himself down on a wooden bench.  
Thoughts assailed him. What would he tell the police? He had absolutely nothing.  
Woman writes letter to say she's going away. Woman goes away.  
What was weird about that?  
Nothing whatever. It was only his mad intuition, that kept nagging him that something wasn't right.  
A hunch. Nothing more.  
The police couldn't act on a hunch. They'd think he was bonkers. He probably was.  
Walking back towards the main road, he'd soon hailed a taxi and was on his way back to his apartment. 

He ran himself a deep and luxurious bubble bath, and soaked himself in it until he began to turn wrinkly.  
There really wasn't much more he could do.  
Best forget it. Clara was probably right, she'd gone to Hastings!  
No odyssey, no mystery.  
Tomorrow he'd go to Harvey Nicks......do a spot of shopping.  
Yes.  
That's what he'd do. Leave Miss Briggs to her holiday......


	7. Dog Day Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Saturday morning when Luke's intercom buzzes......he has an unexpected visitor......

DOG DAY AFTERNOON.

 

BZZZZZZZZZZ! BZZZZZZZZZZZ!  
Luke opened one eye, a hand snaked out from under the bed clothes and reached for the alarm clock. Fumbling for the 'off' button.   
The clock fell onto the floor.  
BZZZZZZZZZ! BZZZZZZZZZZZZ!   
His head emerged, like a tortoise from its carapace, confused, still half asleep.   
Why hadn't the buzzing stopped?   
Then he realised, it was the door buzzer, not the alarm clock at all.   
God! Who could it be?  
It was Saturday......it was too early.   
Who could possibly want him at this hour?  
Pulling himself upright he tied his dark navy silk robe around his body, combed his fingers through the unruly mop of hair that hung down his forehead, and stumbled to his front door.   
Pressing the intercom, he listened, rubbing the sleep from his eyes at the same time.  
"Who is it? What do you want? It's too early!"  
The porter's voice answered.  
"Afternoon Mr W.......it's gone twelve! I've got a young lady here, wishes to see yow."  
Luke was nonplussed.  
"Young lady? Who?"   
He could hear the porter speaking to someone, then....  
"A Miss Oswald, says she knows yow........"   
Luke's breath caught in his throat.  
Clara? What was she doing here?   
No time to think.   
"Better send her up. It's the penthouse, tell her."   
Leaving the door Luke dashed through the rooms, manically straightening cushions, tidying anything he felt should be tidied, and tried to collect himself.   
His bell sounded.  
He opened the door just a crack, peeped through.  
"Hi." She looked sheepish. "I hope you don't mind.....I got your address from your library records. I've got some news......so I thought I'd come."   
Opening the door fully, he stepped back, allowing her to pass inside.  
She eyed him, up and down, taking in the hair, the dishevelled unshaven appearance, the robe, which clung to his body, (Christ! Did he have anything on underneath it she wondered fleetingly?), his bare legs and feet.  
"Weren't you up?" She enquired, "it's past noon."   
"It's Saturday!"   
"Yes, but......." she stopped herself, if he wanted to lay in bed half the day, it was really nothing to do with her.  
"What was the news?" He backed away, heading for the kitchen......"coffee?"  
"Thanks, no sugar."   
Clara moved through the lounge, following him, her eyes darting to and fro, taking it all in, the pictures on the walls, the furniture, the layout.   
"What a beautiful place.......and WOW.......what a view!"  
She walked to the window, peering out.   
"You must be rich.......no wonder you lay in bed all day." The words left her lips before she'd really thought them through.  
"I inherited it.....Mother married an oil magnate, then promptly died."  
"Bloody lucky!" She remarked, "now I know why you come to the library so much, you've nothing better to do!"   
Luke considered this for a moment.......she had a point.  
Perhaps she could have put it more kindly, but.....no one had ever really said that to him before, in so many words......told him he was the epitome of the Idle Rich.   
A life wasted.   
"Sorry," she added, "didn't mean that to come out quite so harshly. I should really shut up. None of my business."   
Setting down the coffee tray, neatly laid with white china cups with gold rims, milk jug, cafetière, Luke frowned slightly,  
"It's okay, you're not wrong. I know it's true really, I suppose."  
He looked hurt, and Clara was sorry she'd spoken so out of turn.   
Sensitive one, this one, she thought.   
"News?" He looked at her expectantly, whilst absentmindedly pushing his hair back from his eyes.  
She leaned forward, passing him her phone.  
"Saw this, this morning.....someone tweeted it......and I just thought.....well.....is it important do you think?"  
Luke scrolled to the link and read......

"CHILDREN PLAYING FIND BODY OF DOG.  
Two brothers playing by the canal, inadvertently snagged the body of a black and white King Charles spaniel yesterday afternoon. Anyone missing such an animal or possessing any information as to the owner should contact RSPCA on 0753 234710. "

He blanched.   
Swallowed thickly, looked up at Clara's expressive face, as she sat regarding him, head tilted to one side slightly.  
"Oh God!" He whispered.  
"I mean......we shouldn't jump to conclusions. There are lots of black and white dogs.....but I thought it might be worth checking out......and I thought, well, I thought maybe, we should do it together."  
Luke looked green about the gills.  
"You okay......?........Luke? We don't know it's hers.....you shouldn't get upset.....I mean, it could be any old dog.....we don't know."  
His fingers had gone to his mouth, his pale face seemed taut, frightened. Here we go again. He murmured something. Stood up, paced a bit, sat down again. Then began to count......softly, under his breath.  
"1.........2..........3............4......"  
Clara became concerned.  
What was he doing?   
She seated herself on the sofa beside him......  
"It's okay........"  
She touched his hand, but he ripped it away, blinking at her, clearly disturbed.  
"You should know......" His voice wavered, "I do this from time to time......go round the bend. If things get too much."   
So matter-of-fact, so brutally honest.   
Clara suddenly felt genuine pity for him.   
She turned, to fully face him, placing her hands just above his elbows on both arms, feeling the soft silk beneath her fingers and the tension in his biceps. She studied him earnestly.   
"Okay, here's what you're going to do, take some big, deep breaths, with me......and calm yourself......there is no need to panic, and no need to get upset. Come on now.......deep breaths."  
He followed her lead, and after a few moments the feeling passed and he recovered.  
"Better?" She asked.  
He smiled shyly.   
"Better." He replied.   
Then I suggest you get dressed and we go and find out about this dog. If it's hers then there's something amiss. If it isn't.......well, it isn't."   
She added, "what I wouldn't give to have a look at that letter she sent......."  
Luke emerged from his dressing room.   
Grey suit, Prince of Wales check, pale blue shirt buttoned to the neck.   
Washed and scrubbed to within an inch of his life.   
A delicious smell of soap and after shave.  
Clara allowed herself a wry smile. He certainly was a sharp dresser. 

An hour later, they left the Pet Clinic.   
Frustrating.  
There was no collar or ID disc on the dog. No electronic microchip either.  
They resolved to revisit Mrs. Wentworth in Winchester Road.  
Clara had surruptiously taken a photo of the animal on her phone.  
He'd left her to do the talking......they'd lost their dog, come to see if it was theirs......no, it wasn't, their dog had less white......all a tissue of lies.   
She was better at this than he was.   
The neighbour identified the poor mutt, fairly conclusively.  
Yes, she was fairly certain, that was Bertie. Confirmed it usually wore a collar and tag. Gave them a rough idea of where Miss Briggs took her daily walk.   
The canal was less than a mile from her house, it turned out.  
Luke and Clara walked the paths, through the woodland together, side by side, her shoulder knocking his arm occasionally as they negotiated the rough ground.   
"We should go to the police. Don't you think? Tell them what we know." She urged.   
Watching as he poked the undergrowth with a stick.   
"We won't find it Luke.......it won't be here, I'm certain."   
"No, you're probably right." He sighed.....  
"I think we should have a look at that letter first, like you said. Then maybe go to the police."   
"Okay. Back to the library then. It'll still be open, and I have a pass for the main office.....  
Tell me something, Luke.......how have I become embroiled in this? Honestly? I told myself I wanted nothing to do with you, I thought you were......well......frankly?.......completely nuts."   
"That's what most people say." He reflected with a slight shrug.  
"What? That they want nothing to do with you? Or that you're nuts?"  
He held his hands out to the sides, in a defeated gesture.  
"Both." he replied, matter of factly.


	8. Inspector Gadget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke and Clara finally go to the police.....

INSPECTOR GADGET.

A taxi deposited the pair outside the library, and together they entered.  
Luke was placed on look out duty......hoping no one would notice him loitering with intent near the door to the Main Office.  
"You're really not very good at this cloak and dagger stuff are you?" Clara laughed.  
"Act natural, don't look so bloody conspicuous, and don't look like you're constipated! Relax. I'll only be a few minutes."  
She was true to her word.  
"Right! Got a snap on my phone, that'll have to do, I can't take the original and the photocopier's playing up."  
Once outside the building, she showed him.  
"Not hand written." He observed.  
"No.....and just signed at the bottom. Anyone could have sent it. It pains me to say this, Luke Wakefield, but I actually think you might be on to something here. I think your instinct was right!"  
How unnaturally proud of himself did Luke feel at that precise moment?  
Could it be true? He'd actually done something right?  
Clara's eyes were shining up at him, and he felt his chest swell as he looked down into their deep brown depths.  
"Come on you," she said, tugging his sleeve, "police."

The officer on the front desk was singularly unimpressed with them.  
They asked to see someone, but it was clear that they were not being taken seriously.  
Clara then pulled her trump card.  
"Okay. I'll phone my mate at The Echo, then, see if they want to run the story."  
Luke raised his eyebrows and smirked.  
So much better than he could ever have done, this little woman was a force of nature......feisty and confident.  
Luke had never been like that in his entire life.  
On the door the name plate read 'Inspector Jackson'.  
They were shown in.  
Behind the desk he sat, up to his ears in files and paperwork.  
Luke, who spent an inordinate amount of time watching cartoons, could barely hide a giggle.  
It was Inspector Gadget!  
Clara gave him a hard stare.......he reined himself in, with great difficulty.  
Tea was bought in.......it looked like mud. Tasted like mud too.  
To his credit the Inspector listened patiently to their tale. Fingers steepled in front of his mouth, leaning back in his chair with a nonchalant air.  
"Points to consider....." He said, wearily.  
"1) The dog might have run away, got lost, ended up dead, hit by a car, dragged itself...... be nothing to do with anything.  
2) The letter could be completely genuine.....she lost her dog, got upset, decided to sod off to the coast to get over it."  
3) Simply forgot to tell the neighbour, or the milkman."  
He leaned back heavily in his chair again, hands now folded behind his head.  
Luke queried....  
"I'm not buying that, Inspector. Forgive me. I know the whole thing sounds ludicrous, Clara said you'd think as much, but Miss Briggs loved her job so much. She told me how much it meant to her. She wouldn't just go off like that, without a word to anyone. I KNOW it sounds preposterous, I know you think I'm crazy, everyone does. I'm used to it.  
But really, she's been so kind to me.....and I'm sure, sure, that something isn't right. Please Inspector, I'm asking you......please make some inquiries. Please."  
So impassioned was he, that the poor over worked policeman acquiesced.  
"I'll tell you what I'll do.....I'll file a suspected Missing Person report. No harm done if she turns up safe and sound, but we'll see. Alright? Can't say fairer than that. In the mean time I suggest you forget about it. She'll turn up. No doubt."

Subdued. Deflated.  
Both of them.  
Luke particularly downcast.  
Evening crept up on them and Luke's stomach was growling in complaint.  
"Clara?"  
"What is it?"  
He took a deep breath.  
"Please would you accompany me to dinner? You've given up your whole afternoon for this mad quest. It's the least I can do. Anyway, I'm really starving."  
She looked down at herself.  
"Dressed like this?"  
"We can go via your place and you could shower and change?"  
Clara considered.  
It was just dinner. It was nothing. Just food, with a man. That's all.  
"Okay. I will."  
The look on Luke's face when she agreed, was so endearing. It was as if she'd agreed to marry him.  
His whole face lit up.  
"Luke?"  
"Yes."  
"It's just dinner, okay? I want you to know that from the outset. It's nothing more. I want nothing more. It's just that I want to be honest with you, right from the start, so you don't get the wrong end of the stick. I'm not looking for a relationship, or.......or anything. Just so you know."  
His face didn't change, he still had the look of one enraptured.  
Hopeless.  
He was hopeless.  
"Alright! But.........Clara?"  
"What is it?"  
"Thank you for believing me. No one ever believes me.......ever. Everyone just thinks.......well, that I'm crazy."  
"Oh.....I still think you're crazy! No doubt about it! Nutty as a fruitcake. But you're nice. And you're kind. That has to count for something."  
He turned away then, couldn't look at her. Pretended to wipe his face, something in his eye he said.  
Dinner was surprisingly pleasant.  
He was still painfully shy, but after a couple of glasses of wine, he loosened up a little. Spoke more freely.  
"So what did you do.....before you came into all that money?"  
"Worked in an office. Wanted to be an actor, but my wife said it wouldn't pay the bills."  
"Wife? You were married? Now you have surprised me!"  
"Yes. Connie. She left me for a female panel beater. They live in Australia. Have a son.....no.....um......thingy......you understand.....artificially inseminated.......they called him Luke. Ha! The ultimate irony!"  
"Good lord!"  
"What about you?"  
"Oh, I'm by myself."  
"What did you do before the library?"  
"Teacher.....English.....Secondary School."  
He considered for a moment, took a sip from his glass.  
Didn't ask further about her love life.......which she dreaded he might, because she didn't want to talk about it, and she didn't want to lie either.  
After a few seconds he just said,  
"Well, when you find someone, he'll be a very lucky man."  
That was it.  
Simply said, not forced, not shy, not even consciously thought about.  
He just said those words.  
Clara, suddenly couldn't focus.  
Blinded by tears. Call it sentiment, call it what you will.  
His words were like a stab, he was sincere, he meant it. Someone would be lucky to have her.  
When she spent so much time hating herself.  
She could have kissed him. She didn't. But she could have.  
"I think I need to get home." She whispered.  
"I'll get the bill. Call you a cab." He replied, he was considering her closely, deigned to comment, but she was sure he'd seen her tears.  
"There's no need, I can......"  
"Absolutely not. I'll call you a cab. Perhaps I'll see you again, in the library?"  
"I'm sure you will. Thank you for dinner Luke. It was nice. I enjoyed it."  
"You did? Gosh!" He seemed genuinely surprised. 

The cab arrived. He opened the door for her and handed her in, then spoke through the passenger window to the driver, as she settled into the back.  
"Goodnight Clara."  
The taxi pulled away, and she found herself looking back at him, standing by the kerb, one hand raised in farewell.  
Deposited at her front door some 15 minutes later, she found the ride had been paid for, and she owed nothing.  
She felt a strange tightness in her chest.


	9. Search.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke trawls the Internet.......

THE SEARCH.

Clara woke late, for her, on the Sunday morning.   
Her dreams were torrid, almost frightening, odd and confused.....mixed scenes, her ex school, everything that happened in the last year, jumbled together with an old lady with grey hair worn in a bun, that she'd never actually seen in waking life and didn't know, intertwined with a beautiful sunny apartment overlooking a fabulous view and Luke.....flitting in and out of her subconscious. Always vulnerable, a bit weird, a pain in the arse, frankly....but there he was.

Luke Wakefield shut the door to his apartment, threw his keys aside, and reached for the scotch.  
The scotch and the phone.   
He was about to dial his first three digits..........and then he changed his mind.  
No Luke.   
No more.  
Tossing the handset onto the sofa, he carried the whiskey into the bathroom.  
Abandoning the glass on the sink, he undressed and stepped into the shower.   
Water tumbling down, massaging, caressing, he leant his hands against the wall, bowed his head and gave in. Let it pour over him.   
Part of him wanted to weep, with the pent up emotion inside him, but mainly, he wanted to sleep.....properly.  
Not alcohol fuelled, not pill induced, just proper rest, like a normal person.  
But he wasn't a normal person, was he?   
He was crackers.......  
........at the clinic, they constantly told him, there was nothing whatever wrong with him. He didn't need to be there. He just used the place as a bolt hole.  
A place to run. When he was overwhelmed. Instead of standing fore square, facing his troubles head on, he crumbled. Capitulated.  
He'd buried his ex-wife......for good, by letter, when Richard was there........it was such a huge relief, like a weight lifted.......he wasn't 'Connie-Crammed', as he'd come to refer to it.  
But this was different.   
He felt different.   
Yesterday, for the first time in, he couldn't remember how long, he'd been brought back from the brink.   
Just by simply breathing.......  
Before Saturday, hearing the news about the dog, and being alone, would have been enough........enough to tip him over.   
Panic would set in, run for the hills......it had become his stock in trade.....instant collapse, it happened more and more frequently.  
Somehow that hadn't happened this time, she'd calmed him.   
The feeling passed.   
It was almost a euphoric moment. Paul on the road to Damascus.   
His body trembled at the memory of it. 

Warm towel, wrapped around him. He tipped the scotch down the sink. Dried off and went to bed.  
He woke at eight.   
Refreshed.

Monday morning he was at the library doors at opening time.   
Clara could see his eager face through the glass partition.   
She couldn't help but smile, he looked, to her, like a puppy waiting for a dog treat after being especially obedient.  
"Good morning Clara!"  
"Someone's up early this morning!" She responded.  
"It occurred to me last night......I should search, see if I can find a relative.....if the letter is genuine, there might be someone."  
"Well, there are family history sites that give you access to census information, you'd have to register and pay, but you could try that. Also there are still some parish records on the old Microfiche system. What other information do you have on the old lady?"  
"Not a great deal, I don't know how old she is, I can only guess, but I know her name is Agnes, and that she never married......she had a beau, many years ago, but he died tragically and she never quite moved on. Isn't that sad? She could have lived and loved again, but somehow she never did. She told me she loved children, would have liked to have them........"  
He stopped abruptly, Clara's face had creased and her lip trembled.  
"Are you alright, Clara? Have I said something to upset you?"   
She shook her head emphatically, regaining control, slamming down that iron will.  
"No. No. I'm fine. It just struck me as sad, that's all."  
He studied her carefully for a brief moment, then continued.....  
" I think she said she hailed from Cirencester originally, so I could start with that.......?"   
"Okay, let me know how you get on.......maybe when I have a break, we'll grab a coffee?"   
He nodded and wrapped his long legs around each other under the desk, pulling the keyboard towards him, he began tapping with his long fingers, glancing up from time to time to check the results on the screen in front of him.   
Around eleven, Luke sat back in the chair with a satisfied air.  
"Ready for that coffee?" Clara walked over and stood beside him.  
He yawned, and logging out, stood up and followed her, bringing a heavily jotted notepad and pen with him.  
"I hadn't noticed the time, I've been so engrossed." He admitted.  
Sitting opposite each other she leaned across to him.....  
"Well?" She couldn't disguise her curiosity, "don't keep me in suspense, what have you found?"  
"It took me ages Clara.......but I think I've found the right one.....Agnes Briggs, daughter of Charles and Fenella Briggs, born Cirencester, June 25th 1952. So she's 63......."  
"I'm impressed Luke.....really! How are you sure it's her?"  
"Well, in the Gloucester area, there isn't another Briggs of the right age, I had a list, but I gradually narrowed them down, crossing off those that didn't fit the information I had."  
He sipped his coffee, and hummed appreciatively.  
"Mmmmm, that's good coffee......I didn't realise how thirsty I was."  
"Well, you've done brilliantly just to find her....."  
"Ah, but there's more! I haven't finished yet......"  
Clara raised her eyebrows and smiled, he was so pathetically pleased with himself.....he'd actually achieved something, and it made him ridiculously happy.  
"I found this.......Pamela Briggs, daughter of Charles and Fenella Briggs, born Cirencester 13th November 1954."  
"A sister! Wow! So there is a relative........"  
Before she could continue, Luke cut her off and excitedly turned the page of the notepad.  
"That's only the half.......look at this........Pamela Briggs marries Daniel Palmer, 20th August 1977 at St John's Church, Gloucester. And.....and....." He was bobbing up and down with barely suppressed glee,  
"Last entry I found just before you came over.......to Pamela and Daniel Palmer, a son, Raymond, born 3rd February 1979. In Portsmouth."  
"Portsmouth?"  
"Yes. I wondered that, but I'm pretty sure it's the same couple, the ages are right and on the certificate it says, mother's place of birth, Cirencester. "  
He sat back in triumph.  
Clara placed both her hands over his, as they rested on the table top, squeezing them encouragingly.  
"My God! You've done so well! A nephew then? Wow! That's amazing Luke. I honestly didn't think you'd find anything! Amazing!"  
Luke beamed at her, then laughed, shyly.  
"It's funny what you can do when you set your mind to it." he said softly, then quickly diverted his attention from Clara's face, to his coffee cup.   
"So perhaps Miss Briggs has gone to visit her sister......maybe she's been taken ill or something, that's a possibility isn't it?"   
"Well, I thought that's what I'd check next," he replied, " make sure there's no death certificates, and look for an address if I can find one."  
"Well, I must go back to work.......maybe I'll join you again, lunchtime? See how you're doing?" 

It was a slightly more subdued face that Clara beheld at one o'clock.   
"Hey!" She rounded the table behind him, leaning over his right shoulder, one hand resting there lightly.  
"Hey!" He repeated, somewhat downcast.  
"They're dead Clara. Both of them."  
"Budge over!" she nudged him with her backside, so that he shifted to make room on the seat beside him.  
Shoulder to shoulder, peering intently at the computer screen.  
"Daniel Palmer was quite a bit older than Pamela. He died in the early nineties. Pulmonary Oedema. Pamela died three years ago. It says here, Complications from Diabetes. Diabetic coma, multiple organ failure.....etc etc......"  
"Bugger!" Clara exclaimed.  
"Not going to care for her poorly sister then!"  
"Apparently not!"   
Luke leaned back from the screen with a sigh.   
"Two steps forward.....then one step back." He groaned.   
"I wonder where the lovely Raymond lives? What he does?" Clara said thoughtfully.   
"Come on, Luke! Don't despair! Not yet! Seeing as you're so filthy rich, and I'm a poor librarian, you can treat me to a spot of lunch! But I owe you for the taxi on Saturday.....?You don't have to finance my ride home."  
"Forget it Clara. I don't want your money. And I'll gladly buy you lunch, without your encouragement I'd probably either still be in bed, or wandering about looking for something to do!"


	10. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke and Clara go back to the police with his latest findings.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little nod here, for those officianados......Phillip Jackson is the actor who plays Chief Inspector Japp in the Poirot stories!!!

LOST AND FOUND.

The office of Inspector Jackson, looked just at it had on their previous visit.  
Piles of documents, files, papers, strewn everywhere.  
He looked just as world weary as he had before too.  
The duo sat opposite him and shared the information Luke had discovered.  
"We should hire you as an investigator," the Inspector laughed, "you're doing our work for us!"  
"Well, it's nothing that isn't freely available." Luke replied, "but it took time. I know it's not much to go on, but I thought it might be worth seeking out this Raymond Palmer.....I mean, he might know where she's gone.....or she might be with him."  
"Well, Mr Wakefield, leave it to us now, okay. There's nothing more you can do. You've done more than enough already. As far as we're concerned, there's no crime here....all we have is a dead dog. Not even 100% sure the dog was hers......we only think it is. So it's all circumstantial, all surmise. As I said to you before......I'm sure she's on her hols somewhere."

The week passed slowly, Luke visited the library on Wednesday, as usual, then Friday as well.  
He did no more than smile and give a little wave, before disappearing amid the bookshelves.  
Clara had no idea of the inner fight he'd had with himself, not to turn up there every day.  
He really didn't want to make a nuisance of himself, be a pain, an annoyance.  
And it was hard.  
Because he enjoyed talking to her, having someone to talk to at all, was wonderful, but with her, he felt okay. He could relax.  
It wasn't that he was enamoured with her exactly, it was just that this was all new to him, having a person in his life that he would consider a friend.  
After his initial lapse, he'd made no more 'self phone calls', and this was something of a breakthrough in itself. There was no obsession, but there was a manic desire to constantly seek her friendship, and that, he decided, he must master, and suppress.  
He was terrified of pushing her away. 

So, it was a surprise, on the following Sunday morning, the week following the discovery of the dog, that Clara's door bell rang at nine in the morning.  
The deathly white, quivering mess that stood there when she opened the door to his ring, shocked her to the core.  
Standing on the step, leaning against the wall, shaking from head to foot.  
He didn't wait to be invited in, but pushed passed her and practically fell into her lounge, seating himself on the sofa with his hands tucked between his knees.  
"Luke? What the ........what's going on."  
The devastated glance he gave her, filled her with dread.  
She sat down beside him, her hand lightly resting on his left thigh.  
"Luke......what's happened? Tell me."  
"Put the News Channel on." He whispered.  
Clara reached across him for the remote.  
The headline was just beginning.

"THE PARTIALLY BURIED BODY OF AN ELDERLY WOMAN HAS BEEN FOUND BY A DOG WALKER IN WOODLAND CLOSE TO THE REGENT CANAL.  
POLICE ARE ESTIMATING DEATH TO HAVE OCCURRED UP TO TWO WEEKS AGO.  
THE WOMAN HAS NOT BEEN NAMED.  
POLICE ARE NOT YET REVEALING FULL DETAILS.  
THE AREA IS POPULAR WITH CYCLISTS, RUNNERS AND DOG WALKERS AND THE POLICE ARE APPEALING FOR WITNESSES TO COME FORWARD.  
We are now going over to the scene for an interview with Inspector Phillip Jackson, who is heading the inquiry............."

"It's her." Luke stammered, his whole body was trembling uncontrollably, his teeth chattering, as if he was frozen to the marrow.  
Clara didn't know what to say or do to comfort him.  
The lost look he gave her, made up her mind.  
"Oh! Luke......come here."  
She put her arms around his shoulders and held him, but he didn't move, or yield towards her.  
Holding himself stiffly away from her grasp.  
"I knew something was wrong, I knew it.......knew it."  
A shrill ringing made them both jump out of their skins.  
Clara reached for her mobile.  
"Hello."  
"Hello Inspector."  
"Yes, I've just seen it on the news."  
"No, he's here, with me now."  
"Oh! Oh........I see......I'm not sure........ No, I'm not.......I'll ask him."  
"Yes, okay. When?"  
She glanced at her wrist watch.  
"About an hour? Yes......We'll be there."  
"Goodbye Inspector."  
Clara turned back to Luke, and took his hands in her own.  
"Luke?" He was staring resolutely down at the floor.  
"Luke? Look at me. I need to ask you something."  
His head lifted slowly, eyes focussing on her face.  
"The Inspector has asked me to ask you..........they can't find the nephew you see.....he's in France apparently.......Luke?"  
"He wants me to identify her.......doesn't he?"  
"Yes Luke, he does. But you don't have to do it. It can wait until the nephew is found. There's no pressure on you."  
"The sooner it's done though.....the sooner they'll be trying to find who did it.....catch them? Right?"  
"Yes.......Shall I come with you?"  
His face changed, then, the look was one of desolation, numb to the bone.  
"Would you Clara?"  
"Of course. I'm your friend. That's what friends do, support each other."  
"Are you? Do they? I wouldn't know. I've never really had any friends."  
Clara's heart lurched.  
How could she abandon him now? It was true that after the last visit to the police, she'd thought of pretty much severing the ties, just going back to a polite, 'hello' when he came to bring back books, she really didn't want this......really she didn't. Nope. Not at all.  
"Come on......lets get this over with. It's going to be awful......but I'll be there....okay?"  
He nodded but didn't speak. He didn't need to. 

The door to the viewing room hit the wall with a bang as Luke stumbled out, retching and heaving, bent double, clinging to the wall with one hand, and Clara with the other.  
He vomited copiously, spattering the floor.  
Breathing ragged, as he fought to control himself.

Staring straight ahead, white as a sheet, unspeaking in the taxi, all the way back to his apartment.  
Not one word.  
"I'll be alright now." He said as they reached the lift.  
"No, Luke. You won't be alright. I'm staying with you. There is no way on Earth I'm leaving you alone after that. So don't even think about it."  
Such a look of gratitude flickered across his face momentarily, that it almost choked her.  
"Let's get you inside. I don't know about you, but I need a stiff drink....."


	11. Comfort.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara and Luke have a heart to heart....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the dialogue in this chapter is taken directly from things that Luke actually says in 'Crusade'.

COMFORT.

She expected a breakdown.  
It was only a matter of time.  
How he'd held it together this long, she wasn't sure.  
What actually happened wasn't quite what she'd anticipated however.  
Whiskey tumbler held in both his trembling hands he sipped, swallowed.  
"It was horrible. Clara. Horrible." He murmured.   
"I know Luke. I know. It's okay....."  
"Clara......I'm really sorry about all this, and I know what you said.......but......"  
"Said? Said about what?"  
"About wanting nothing. No relationship.....I don't either........not really.......I don't know how to do relationships........Richard said I was denying my true self......"  
"What? Why did he say that?"   
He turned to look at her, red with shame.  
"He wanted me, wanted to love me.......but I couldn't Clara, I couldn't.......I tried, really I did, he kissed me, and I kissed him back, but then when he tried to......."  
"Oh my God......Luke........did he try to force you?......you must have been so frightened.......he shouldn't have done that."  
Luke seemed genuinely surprised.  
"How do you know? How can you possibly know? Know how scared I was?"   
"Because I can see it in your face Luke.......and you're not gay.......I can see that too."   
Luke sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Slugged back more scotch.  
"But I wanted to be......so desperately.......for him........I did......."  
"Oh Luke, my dear man, you can't be gay because someone else wants you to be......you either are or you're not. It's not a disease, that you have or haven't got......that's not how it works."  
"But I wanted to be loved. And I thought that was the way.......but it wasn't. I couldn't. I don't think I'll ever be able to love, or be loved.......by anyone......it's all Connie's fault."  
He waved a hand expansively.   
"How is it Connie's fault?"   
"The doctor at the clinic said it......he told me why.......he said that when Connie left she robbed me of my cock......they were his exact words."   
Clara laughed out loud.   
"What's so funny?"   
"I'm sorry Luke, but I've never heard such bullshit in all my life!"  
"Well, I can't have........thingy.......even when I was married, it was difficult, all that nakedness was kept behind closed bathroom doors. I was a bottle fed baby you know!"   
Clara laughed again.   
"Thingy? You mean sex. Say it Luke. Please tell me you don't call sex......thingy?"  
"I can't have sex."  
"Can't? Won't ? Or haven't had the opportunity? With the right person?"  
"Well, there was this prostitute......Sandra......."  
Clara's eyebrows almost reached her hairline.  
"I went to see her.....not for thingy.......sex......when I was searching for information about Marion.....when I thought she'd been murdered.....on my Crusade.........she offered me one of her 'specials'........I'm not sure what that involved, but I knew it wasn't for me."  
Clara tutted.  
"And on that basis you've decided that you can't have sex? With a prostitute? Giving you one of her specials! It's hardly a benchmark is it Luke?"   
"And who the hell is Marion, who you thought was murdered?......no hang on.....don't tell me yet, I need to get another drink.....this is going to be interesting."   
When she returned, he had curled himself up on the sofa, bringing his long legs up, knees to his chest, laying sideways against the sofa back, like a small child.   
She sat down level with him, reached her hand to him, entwining her fingers with his.  
"Tell me."   
The whole story of the Crusade came out. Gushing forth, amid tears and much nose blowing.......Sebastian dying in the post office, the letters, Marion, Richard, travelling to Merthyr, sneaking into funerals and art galleries uninvited.....the whole sorry saga.   
Clara listened, agape.   
When he'd finished, she smiled.  
"And I thought you did nothing all day long." She mused.  
"Clearly I underestimated you Luke Wakefield."   
He gave a coy smile in return.  
"Oddly, it feels better to have told someone. Especially the thing with Richard......I'd never have spoken of it......but for you."  
"Well, I'm glad you did.......it helps me to understand you better."   
"I'm surprised you want to."   
Clara sighed.   
"Luke. I like you. You're a nice man. You are my friend, that's a given now.......we're connected, whether we like it or not. The reasons I don't want a relationship right now, are nothing to do with you. Maybe sometime I'll explain, but not right now.  
What you did today was incredibly brave. And anyone who's been through that shouldn't be left alone. So I'm here for you. Okay?"  
He lifted their two hands, fingers still linked......considered them a moment, then pulled them towards his lips and kissed them.   
"It's wonderful." He said simply.....  
"You're a wonderful friend. Thank you Clara."  
"You're welcome Luke."  
"Clara, can I tell you something?"  
"What is it?"  
"If I'd come home by myself, I'd have packed a bag, and been at the clinic by now, medicated up to the eyeballs......a wreck. The fact that I'm here still, is down to you. I just thought you should know that."   
"I'm glad."  
"You won't go, will you? You'll stay the night."  
Her face changed.  
He added quickly....  
"I don't mean.......I don't want anything......I don't want you to think, to think.....I'd take advantage of you or anything.......but I'd really rather not be by myself......not tonight. I have a lovely spare room......"  
Clara smiled.   
"Alright Luke, I'll stay. On one condition."  
He quirked an eyebrow questioningly.  
"We can have breakfast on your balcony in the morning.....if it's sunny.......only it's just SO cool.....a bloody balcony for crying out loud, you HAVE to eat breakfast out there, surely?"  
Luke smiled despite himself.


	12. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the shock of Miss Briggs discovery Clara is staying the night at Luke's apartment.......

THE MORNING AFTER.

Sunshine poured down over the tops of the buildings, as they sat at the little table, across from each other, surrounded by potted palms and yukka, fronded greenery, swaying gracefully in the light breeze.  
Clara's gaze swept along the roof tops, taking in the skyline. The curving arc of the Olympia almost directly in front of her, the distant hum of the traffic, from the streets below. Punctuated with the wail of a siren or the honk of a car horn.  
Clara turned then to contemplate her breakfast partner.......barely any outward sign......a little redness and puffiness around the eyes perhaps......but otherwise almost no trace of what she knew he'd suffered during the night......

.......She wasn't sure what woke her. Some innate sense maybe.  
She lay under the luxurious covers listening.......  
.......Weeping.  
She could hear it quite distinctly.  
Oh God! What should she do?  
Her first instinct had been to rise, and go to him. But then she thought better of it.  
It was too intimate, to go into his room, while he was in bed, too much to invade his personal space thus. Crying or not. She knew he wouldn't welcome it.  
He'd begun to trust her, and despite everything, she liked that feeling.  
She liked him. He was sweet. Fragile but sweet.  
In her own mind she knew he wasn't 'round the bend' as he described himself. Erring towards the depressive perhaps, unpredictable, but not unhinged. Certainly OCD, but then so was she, a real control freak sometimes.  
She wondered how he'd been with his ex wife, what his life had been like before the money took away his reason to get up in the morning, and engage normally with the rest of society.  
How he'd become so solitary.......that lonely existence which fed his state of mind, made him less and less able to join in, separating himself from everything and everyone. It was a self perpetuating circle. Difficult to break.  
Clara had to admit it, she felt sorry for him, and pity was not a good basis on which to cultivate any sort of relationship, friendly or otherwise.  
So she turned over, lay listening to his sobs.  
And her heart ached.

"So what's on the agenda for today?" She enquired, as she watched him carefully and deliberately arranging the crockery and pouring coffee, reaching across to hand her the cup and saucer.  
He sat down, gazing out at the wide vista.  
"I don't know." He answered with a shrug.  
"I suppose there'll be an autopsy.......then a Coroners inquest. I'll have to attend. I want to. I don't know what happened to that poor woman. But I want her to have justice Clara, peace. She deserves it. And I want to be there to see what happens."  
"For what it's worth Luke, I want to be there too. I'm kind of caught up in all this now. I know I didn't know Miss Briggs, but you did. And you liked her, and she liked you.....and that's good enough for me."  
He blinked at her, almost in wonder, but offered no comment.  
This little domestic scene moved him profoundly.  
His thoughts ran into one another.....  
'He was sitting......on his terrace......something he'd never done before......ever......having breakfast, with a, frankly, delightful woman, with the biggest brown eyes, who was dressed in his white towelling robe, which swamped her in the most attractive way, her hair dishevelled so prettily, a woman who was so ready with a smile, and those dimples, when she did........and oh, Lord....she was watching him now, he could see her out of the corner of his eye.....regarding him in that disarming way, that made him feel hot around the neck and bashful.....and he didn't know where to put his hands or what to do with himself......it was all very........very.........alarming.'  
"Luke?" She was speaking to him......how long had she been talking, while he was lost in thought?  
"Penny for them!"  
"Pardon?" He queried, pensively.  
"Penny for your thoughts!" She was smiling at him," you were miles away!"  
"Sorry. I'm a bit distracted......sorry."  
"There you go, saying sorry again! You do it a lot! Listen......I have to be going, I need to go home, have a shower and go to work......some of us have to."  
"Yes......gosh, of course you do! What must you think of me? Like I've got all day.....and I didn't even think!"  
She laughed,  
"I can't spend all day sitting here with you, I have pennies to earn, bills to pay. I can't afford to lose my job! I'd be out on the streets!! Look.....you have my mobile number, you know where I am, you'll call me if you hear anything.....yes?"  
"I will Clara......if you don't mind that is......I don't want to make a nuisance of myself......I don't want you to think I'm........"  
"You're what?"  
"I was going to say 'needy', but I think 'clingy' is probably a better word."  
"Luke, I don't think that of you, not at all. We're all needy in one way or another. You can ring or text me anytime, okay? Friends.......remember? "  
"Yes. Yes. Okay. Having trouble with the concept."  
She rose, headed into the kitchen, taking plates and cups with her.  
Luke followed her.  
"Leave them......I'll do them, you go get dressed.....I'll phone you a cab."


	13. Inquest.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquest into Miss Briggs death is held.......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are several nods in this chapter to the original 'Crusade'......

INQUEST.

 

Several days passed and Clara did not see Luke Wakefield.  
He didn't come into the library. Nor did he ring or text her.  
She began to worry.  
Bloody hell.  
Why was he so annoyingly THERE? In her head.  
Where she didn't want him to be!  
She tried calling, no reply. 

That evening, she decided to try calling him again.....  
"Hello."  
"Luke? It's Clara. Are you okay?"  
"Fine, darling......how are you?"  
Oh, that did not sound right......not right at all.  
False. Like he was talking to someone who wasn't real.  
"Luke? I'm coming over. I'm inviting myself. I'll be at yours in 20 minutes."

She crossed the foyer of Kensington West Tower.  
The porter greeted her.  
"Have you seen him?" She asked.  
"Not for a couple of days Miss."  
"Dammit! I told him to call me. Why didn't he?"  
"Excuse me for asking Miss.......but yow and him?"  
Clara gave the porter a hard stare.  
"Not that it's any of your damn business......but we're friends!"  
By way of reply he tipped his hat with a knowing smirk.  
She buzzed the intercom.  
"Luke? Let me up."  
The buzzer clicked off and she called down the lift.  
Moments later she was at his door, ringing the bell.  
His head peeped through the gap as he opened it, but the chain was on.  
"Go away Clara, I'm not in for visitors."  
"Luke Wakefield, you open this bloody door right now. Or I swear to God, I'll break it down."  
He closed the door to, and she heard the chain slip free.  
She marched inside.  
"Where have you been? I haven't seen you, heard from you. I was worried, Luke. Friends call each other, check in, see if the other is okay.....I tried calling you.....no answer.....what's going on?"  
A shrug of the shoulders was the only reply.  
"And you're in your bloody dressing gown......again......it's five o'clock in the afternoon!"  
Hangdog expression.  
She sighed. Backed off.  
Giving him a hard time wasn't the answer, he couldn't cope with it, he just couldn't.  
She held her arms away from her body, palms up, in a gesture of acceptance.  
"Luke? This is me.....Clara. The one you don't have to pretend with.....remember? Talk to me."  
"I had a call, from the Inspector........"  
"And?"  
"She was strangled Clara......the autopsy.......they think it was an attempted robbery, that went wrong, her bag and stuff were missing. The Inquest starts tomorrow."  
He sat down, a juddering breath, holding it together......just.  
"Oh God! Luke I'm sorry." She sat beside him, held his hand, "Why? Why, didn't you call me?"  
He turned his face to her, eyes darting to hers, then downcast, looking at his feet.  
"Because......I........because.......I'm a failure Clara, I always muck up.......right from being born.....my parents wanted a girl you see.......then I messed up with Connie, she said I stifled her, that I was too 'over the top'. With Richard.......I was just kidding myself. I pretend things Clara.....I do it because it's all I have, there is no reality, just pretend. When I phone myself, I can chat, no one's going to let me down, say they'll do something, then don't.....or say they'll be somewhere, then don't show up. When I pretend, I don't muck up. I can say anything......everything. I'm not crippled with shyness, I don't say anything stupid, because it doesn't matter what I say, there's no one there......I can say anything......do anything, be anyone."  
Clara reached her hand to him, touched his face gently, sweeping her thumb across his cheek.  
"Luke. You don't have to pretend with me. You can say whatever you want to say, and I'll listen and I won't say you're stupid. You can't shut yourself away like this. It's not healthy. You think too much and you become maudlin. You analyse yourself, and you don't like what you see, and you think no one else will like you either.....but that's not the case. I like you. I like you Luke. And you haven't mucked up. Okay?"  
His eyes were filled with tears, and he sniffed. She rose.  
"I'll get you a glass of water."  
On the kitchen counter were the trappings of a meal, laid out, ready to be prepared.  
Leaning on a metal stand, a cookery book......'Elaborate Meals for One.'  
Clara sniffed appreciatively.  
"Luke?" She called.  
He padded into the room, eyes red rimmed now and still swimming.  
"What's all this?" She gestured to the ingredients.  
"I was going to cook.......I thought it might cheer me up. I.......I had a phone call from a friend, I said I'd cook for her."  
His eyes raised to her face slowly, guiltily.  
"And now she's here." Clara said with a smile, she laced her arm through his.  
"So....what are we having?"

Slowly the people filed into the building. The old Town Hall. Used for such purposes.  
There was quite a crowd. The case had caused a stir.  
Some Clara recognised. Workers from the library. Others who's faces were vaguely familiar.  
A man in his late thirties held her attention.  
Shortish, with dark hair. Glasses. Clean shaven. Looking about him, scanning the faces.  
He had a large sticking plaster on the back of one hand, and carried a portfolio case. 

The Inspector hailed them.  
"Ah....here you are...... Starsky and Hutch......" He grinned at them.  
Luke was far too nervous to rise to the joke.  
Seated near the front, his knee bouncing.  
Clara leaned in to him....  
"Luke, stop it. You'll be fine." She whispered.  
He nodded. She clasped his hand, and, as he usually did, he looked down at their hands in disbelief.  
Evidence from the dog walker, who discovered the body.  
Mrs Wentworth, the neighbour, full of little snippets of Miss Briggs' daily routine.  
Luke himself, with his small contribution.  
Interestingly, the chief Librarian was called, to talk about Miss Briggs' letter.  
Clara perked up and that point and leaned in again to whisper to Luke.  
"If they think it was an attempted robbery, the letter doesn't tie in." She murmured.  
"Was she planning to go away?.....then got herself killed......or did someone else send the letter?...... before killing her, and didn't bank on the body being found so soon....or anyone missing her, and making a fuss....i.e. you ?"  
The final testament came from the doctor who performed the autopsy, setting out his findings.  
Luke swallowed as he listened to the details.  
Before Inspector Jackson took the stand, briefly, to outline a few salient points.  
The verdict was given.....

Death by Person or Persons Unknown. 

Now the investigation would begin in earnest.  
Permission had been granted for the funeral to take place the following week, and the Will to be read at the same time.  
Emerging into the sunlight, Luke breathed a sigh of relief. It hadn't been as bad as he'd anticipated, he'd worked himself into a lather, and he'd actually coped pretty well.  
He and Clara went for a welcome drink.  
"Did you notice that man with the portfolio case?" Clara asked.  
"Yes......do you think that's Raymond?"  
"Could be.....I guess we'll find out next week."  
"Well.......cheers!" Clara offered, they clinked glasses. "Here's to Miss Briggs and finding her killer."


	14. Where There's a Will.......

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of Miss Briggs' funeral dawns.....Clara is not looking forward to it.

WHERE THERE'S A WILL....

The morning of the funeral finally arrived.   
Clara peered at herself in the mirror. Her grim face stared back at her unblinking.  
"You can do this Clara. You have to. He needs you." She told herself sternly.   
It was going to be tough.  
Her black dress with its little white collar, had been dry cleaned, and was ready to wear.   
Neat black shoes, jacket. Handbag.  
It was time to leave.  
Grabbing her sunglasses she plunged out into the bright morning light.  
Deep breaths Clara. Deep breaths.  
She arrived moments before Luke. She spied him, stepping out of the taxi, eyes roving the gathering, searching for her.   
Sharp black suit. White shirt. Black tie. Long overcoat.   
God, but he looked handsome......had she really not noticed before?  
She spotted familiar faces.  
Plus the shortish man, from the Inquest. Hand still taped up, but pulling on black leather gloves.  
Clara went to Luke's side. Put her arm through his. He looked down at her, smiled wanly and placed his other hand over hers.   
The gesture no longer a surprise. 

They had been in regular contact since the day of the Inquest, a week since.  
Phoning each other everyday. He'd been into the library a few times.   
She'd spent her coffee break with him.   
They'd developed an easy rapport now, he would talk to her properly, about ordinary, everyday things.  
On the Saturday he'd cooked for her again, they'd spent a pleasant evening. 

She held on to him very tightly, throughout the service and at the graveside, his face set, jaw clenched.   
The worst moment for Clara was the 'ashes to ashes, dust to dust'.....she almost.......almost lost it then.   
Never had she been so close to breaking down. But she held it, through sheer force of willpower.   
Thankfully the service was short.   
Afterwards, it was back to Winchester Road for the wake, and the reading of the will. 

Friends and family milling about, sandwiches, cups of tea, glasses of sherry.   
All terribly genteel.   
Luke had been collared by Mrs Wentworth, which was why he wasn't on hand to rescue Clara when she was cornered by the shortish man.  
"Hello." He began, "I recognise you from the Inquest, do I not?"  
"Yes, I'm Clara. I work at the library."   
"Ah, that explains it." He smiled just a little too wide. "I'm Raymond, Raymond Palmer, pleased to make your acquaintance Clara. Miss Briggs was my aunt."   
"Did you have far to come Mr Palmer," she enquired casually.   
"Call me Raymond, please! Well, I live in Portsmouth, but I've just returned from France."   
"Oh, so not from round here then?" Clara sipped her drink.  
"No, I don't know this area at all. Never been here. But I'm staying nearby to sort out Auntie's things.....perhaps you could show me the sights?"  
"Well, I'm afraid I have to work, Raymond, my time is not my own." Clara decided she disliked Raymond Palmer, she wouldn't trust him as far as she could throw him.   
"That's a great pity. Perhaps you would allow me to take you out for a drink or dinner, or we could go to my hotel....." He moved uncomfortably close to her, almost touching, invading her personal space. Clara tried to step back, but the wall prevented her.  
To diffuse the situation, she wondered aloud about his hand.  
"Oh this, " he replied, raising it, and still bearing down upon her, "an argument with a car door."   
"You are really a very attractive woman, you know." He almost salivated as he spoke.  
What a lech.......Clara thought, as she squirmed to free herself from under his arm, which he'd placed by her left shoulder, hand resting on the wall behind her.   
Luke was beside her elbow at that moment, never had she been more glad to see anyone.  
"Are you unwell Mr ?" Luke began.  
"Luke, this is Raymond, Miss Briggs' nephew."  
Luke ignored Clara's words and continued to stare directly into Raymond's face.  
"Are you unwell?" He repeated.  
"Not at all.....why?" the Nephew replied, shifting slightly.  
"Well, by the way you were leaning against the wall, I thought you needed the support." He continued, his voice soft, but measured.  
Raymond stood back, and Clara smiled to herself, breathing a sigh of relief.   
"I....er.....they're going to read the Will in a moment." He blustered, "in the dining room."  
"We'll be right there." Luke replied, with a ghost of a smile.  
Mr Palmer moved away, giving Luke an unfriendly scowl.  
"Creep!" Luke said, as he watched him go. "I felt the urge to strike you."   
Clara took his arm.  
"My knight in shining armour!" She laughed.   
He seemed to snap back to reality then, and reddened visibly. 

The reading of the Will held no real surprises, except one.   
Mr Raymond Palmer got the bulk of a very considerable estate, and there were one or two small personal bequests....

......."My writing box and it's contents, I leave to Mr. Luke Wakefield, as a gesture of thanks for his kindness in listening to an old lady, when no one else would. I hope he finds it useful.".......

Luke's eyes widened in surprise, as the solicitor handed him a cherry wood box, inlaid with mother of pearl and tortoise shell, in a fleur-de-lis pattern. It was a little larger than a vanity case, and really quite beautiful.   
He swallowed, glanced at Clara, and took the box, his fingers tracing the intricate pattern on the lid.   
"Gosh!" He exclaimed.  
Raymond leaned towards him......his face betraying veiled anger.  
"The old dear seems to have had a soft spot for you and no mistake!"  
The box was locked, but the solicitor had an envelope containing the key, which he handed over and Luke stowed it inside his breast pocket. 

To Clara's relief, the gathering was winding down, people heading off, saying their goodbyes.  
"Shall we share a taxi?" Luke inquired.   
"Sure." She replied, her head was buzzing uncomfortably.   
Nothing happened until they were nestled together side by side on the back seat, heading homewards. Luke, with the writing box resting in his lap.  
Clara feeling completely drained and overwrought.


	15. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke Wakefield steps up to the plate.......

THE AFTERMATH.

The feeling crept over Clara gradually. Heightened because she'd consciously held it all in for so long.   
Forcing herself to be strong and not acknowledge her own despair.   
Suffocation.  
Nausea.  
Her breathing grew more and more rapid, as the realisation hit her that she was beginning to lose it, and she began to panic.  
If she could only get home. Then when Luke was gone, she could let go.  
She was only dimly aware of the traffic rushing by and of his proximity as they travelled along.  
Reaching for the window lever, she tried to prise it open, but it seemed stuck, after a couple of seconds she was clawing at it, desperate for air.  
Luke reached across her, unaware of her plight.  
"Shall I do it?"   
Beyond speech, she nodded emphatically and he slid the glass half way down for her.  
Sucking in the cool draught like a drowning woman, she clung to the window panel with both hands.  
Everything was caving in.   
Snapshots of the graveside flashed into her mind, standing, looking down on the coffin, the brown earth, the cut turf piled at the side. The wreaths of flowers, the muted voice of the clergyman.   
The cab reached her flat, and pulled over, but she was not conscious of where she was.   
Her vision swam, and Luke's voice seemed to reach her from the end of a long tunnel.  
"We're here Clara."   
Tears, spilling down her cheeks, although there was no other sign that she was crying.   
Chest so tight now, from hyperventilating, she was only moments from passing out.   
Everything seemed blurred, as if she were surrounded by a thick mist.   
She was only dimly aware of him, helping her out, paying the driver, then stumbling to her door, his arm holding her increasingly firmly as her legs seemed unable to support her.   
A white light seemed to envelope her.  
Everything went blank.

Clara's eyes snapped open, filled with confusion.  
She was lying on her own sofa, Luke kneeling on the floor beside her, his frightened pale face, looking concernedly down into her own.  
"What happened?"  
"Clara, darling, you fainted......I'm so worried, are you ill?"  
His cool hand stroked her brow and elicited a sob from deep within her, at the gentleness of the touch.  
"Shall I fetch some water?"   
She nodded, and he hurried away.   
In seconds he returned, and lifted her slightly, helping her to take a sip.   
Her head fell back into the cushions, her whole body clammy, a sheen of perspiration as her heart worked hard to send sufficient blood back to her brain, now that she was horizontal.   
"Clara? Please tell me you're alright?"   
He continued to move his fingers across her forehead, in small strokes, and her eyes fluttered shut at the soothing touch.   
Just let me melt away, she thought, just let me lie here and melt away.  
"Shall I call a Doctor? Clara? Or an ambulance?"  
She shook her head, forced her eyes to open,   
"I'm sorry." She whispered, so quietly he bent his head nearer to catch her words.  
"I thought I could do it, Luke, get through, for your sake, but it's too much. I couldn't . It's too soon, I wasn't ready........"  
Breathing ragged now, she began slowly and surely, to cry in earnest.   
Gradually the feeling began to overwhelm and overtake her, building and gathering momentum, until it rushed from her like a tidal wave.   
It was as if holding it in for so long had intensified and accentuated all the emotion, drawing it from her like blood into a syringe, sucking her dry.   
Somehow Luke leaned over her, pulling her up slightly so that he could put his arms under and around her body.  
He lifted her, cradling her head with his hand to protect it, and carried her into her bedroom, where he laid her down. Placing pillows under her head. Pulling off her shoes. Covering her with a blanket as she sobbed and sobbed.  
She gripped his hand, as he made to leave her, tugging him towards her.   
"Don't leave me here alone. Please Luke. I beg you. I don't want to be alone. Not now."  
"It's okay Clara. I'll stay." He said quietly, seating himself on the bed at her side, one leg tucked underneath him.   
"Can you talk? Can you tell me? What this is about? I want to understand."  
Her eyes scanned his face as if searching for reassurance, confirmation that, yes she could tell him, she could find relief from this massive weight she'd been carrying for over a year.   
But should she?   
He had so many problems of his own, so many insecurities, he seemed to her so fragile, not strong, would it be fair?  
Lesser things had sent him running to the clinic.   
How would he cope with this weeping mess, that was falling apart before his very eyes?  
Then he spoke. Evenly, calmly, looking down at her hand, still clutching his.  
"Clara......friends you said. Friends that help each other, are there for each other, that's what you said.......and it's always been you, there for me, selflessly. Even when I've been a pain in the neck and you haven't wanted to......what sort of a friend would I be if I wasn't there for you too? I know I'm not much of anything, but I can listen and I can be there.....even if I can't do anything else."  
Something gave inside Clara, his words moved her deeply.   
Sitting herself up she crawled into him, laying her head against his chest, she curled there, arms folded into her body, and wept anew, soaking his shirt.  
She felt his arms come around her, rocking her gently, his hand on her back, just between her shoulder blades, rubbing in circular motions. He kissed the top of her head, then laid his cheek against it.   
"What is it Clara? Please tell me why you are so unhappy."   
"He's gone Luke. He's gone. And it all came back to me today, I buried him just a year ago."  
Releasing his hold on her slightly, he pulled back so that he could look into her face.   
"Whom? Whom did you bury?"   
"My boyfriend Danny. He died. He was hit by a car, I was talking to him on the phone when it happened."  
Luke gasped.   
"Oh Clara!"  
Her tears began again more intensely.  
"I'd phoned to tell him I loved him......he was distracted......it was a moment. And he was gone. Gone."  
Luke tightened his grip. Let her sink into him again.   
"We worked together, he was a teacher too, that's why I left the school and came to the library, I couldn't bear to go back. I was doing okay, but today.....today was all too much. Too much."  
"You were doing okay.......until you met this pathetic idiot, so wrapped up in himself, he didn't even notice, didn't see the signs, how much you were hurting, how strong you were trying to be, for his sake. And this is what it's reduced you too.....and it's my fault. Had I not been so self indulgent, you would have been able to tell me you'd rather not go to the funeral, spared yourself. Not become embroiled with me and my Miss Briggs."  
"It was going to happen sometime Luke." She wiped her eyes and sat back, her shoulders still juddering with sobs, her hand resting on his damp shirt.  
"If not now, then next week, next month. One day. It is not your fault. Don't blame yourself. It's what I was afraid of.....that you would think it was down to you and be upset."  
"What saddens me most is that I didn't notice.....since when did I become so insensitive? So incapable of seeing what's past the end of my nose? I'll make it up to you Clara, I swear, I'll be the best friend ever. I will. I promise."  
"I think I could do with that right now." She smiled a little, blew her nose, and reaching forwards, kissed his cheek.  
"Thank you Luke."   
So he stayed. He curled up in a blanket on her couch, which was rather too short for his tall frame. First thing in the morning he was up and out, down to the shops.  
Clara was woken, with a tap on her bedroom door.  
"Luke?"  
His rumpled head peeped in.  
"Good, you're awake!" The door was kicked open and he entered carrying a tray.   
Coffee and croissants, warm from the oven.  
"Oh, my!" She exclaimed, sitting up. "Luke Wakefield, you are a dear! This is wonderful. No one's ever brought me breakfast in bed!"  
"Your oven is prehistoric.....it took me ten minutes to work out how to switch it on!"  
She laughed, before tucking in.   
He sat himself on the edge of her bed watching her carefully.  
Clara looked at him fondly......bless his heart, his face beamed with satisfaction, that he had made her smile.   
He was a dear......and he'd helped her more than he could possibly know.


	16. The Box.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara is staying at Luke's apartment. He examines the box he inherited in Miss Briggs Will.......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The details of Luke cleaning and cooking come directly from 'Crusade'.

THE BOX.

Clara had finally been persuaded by Luke to visit her GP.  
Much against her better judgement but just for once she did as she was told.   
If she was honest with herself, she knew she needed to go. Had done for some time.   
He signed her off for two weeks sick leave.   
His advice was that she rested, got out of the work routine. Tried to relax as much as possible and distract herself from the day to day stresses that caused her meltdown in the first place.  
Luke arrived at her flat the following morning, after she'd phoned him and told him the news, the evening before.  
She opened her door to a large bouquet of flowers, with legs, his face peered out from behind them comically.   
If there was one thing Luke Wakefield did at these moments, it was make her laugh.   
"I don't think the bunch of flowers is big enough." She chuckled.  
"Don't you like them?"  
"Luke, they are beautiful but you don't have to buy me things......I don't need you too!"   
"I'd like you to come to mine.......stay a few days." He said, shyly. "I want to take care of you."  
Clara felt a lurch in her stomach.   
No one had ever really looked after her, not really, not since her mum died. It was usually her doing the caring.  
She looked at Luke's smiling eager face.   
"Do you know what? I will. I bloody well will. I'll pack some stuff in a bag. And I'll bring my flowers with me!!"  
Crossing the foyer of Kensington West, the porter popped up from behind his desk, like a jack-in-the-box.   
Luke jumped.  
"I hate it when you do that!" He cried.   
He gave Clara and her bag a sideways look.  
"Yeah....and still just friends! And still none of your business!" She said, pointing an accusative finger at him.  
The porter just smiled. 

The weather had been fine. Clara loved to sit on the balcony. She spent a great deal of the morning there. While the sun was fully on it. Reading the paper, sipping lovely coffee.   
She had to admit, she loved Luke's place. So light and airy, so different from her dismal flat.  
Luke was as good as his word.  
He looked after her.   
He was a bit of domestic God, it turned out. Fastidiously tidy, hoovering, dusting, cleaning.  
He did all the cooking, and he was extremely good at it.   
The sight of him, in the kitchen, wearing his red apron, licking his fingers as he pored over the recipe, made her smile.   
She could take long luxurious bubble baths, in his enormous tub.   
Read a book, listen to his classical music.  
Just enjoy being cosseted and pampered.....such as she'd never been in her life before.   
They held hands sometimes, snuggled up side by side on the sofa of an evening, but that was all, and that seemed enough, for both of them.   
He seemed perfectly content. He was quite relaxed around her, more so than she'd ever seen him.  
It was odd, but he made her feel comfortable, and secure, and that was what she needed most at that precise time.

Wandering into the lounge after her bath, wearing Luke's white robe, she found him sitting examining the cherry wood box, Miss Briggs had left him. The torn envelope that contained the key, tossed aside on the coffee table.   
It was open and inside was a nice fountain pen and several other small trinkets.  
"Wasn't it sweet of her to leave it to you?" She remarked.   
"I'm still not quite sure why she did though." He pondered, turning the box around in his long fingers, probing the seams and the dovetail joints, and the intricate inlaid lid.   
Suddenly there was a slight 'click'. The bottom of the box sprung open, to reveal a secret drawer.  
Inside tied with ribbon, were two bundles of letters.   
Luke pulled them out, aghast.......Clara shimmied onto the sofa beside him, as close as she could be.  
"Oh my god! Luke.......what are they?" 

The next two hours were spent, cuddled together comfortably, each reading to the other from the pile of correspondence.  
The first bundle turned out to be letters from Miss Briggs to her beau, and his replies.   
Her Albert.   
Both Clara and Luke shed tears of sadness as they read the poignant epistles of love between the two people, shared in pen and ink, whenever they were apart. Their dreams and plans, their hopes for the future. Then the letters abruptly ceased.   
Clara leaned against Luke and his arm came around her shoulder, squeezing gently.   
"What a waste." She whispered.   
"Didn't someone once say 'better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all' " he replied, softly.   
He smacked a kiss on her temple, and shunted her off him,  
"Come on.....let's read the others." He said, excitedly, reaching for the other bundle.   
"I'll put the kettle on......you go first." She laughed, nudging him playfully back with her elbow. 

The second pile were not quite such fun.   
A series of missives from one sister to another, Agnes Briggs to Pamela Palmer, and vice versa.   
The letters becoming increasingly concerned as she spoke of her son Raymond, and his monetary woes, his lack of business acumen. His debts, his borrowing, his constant pleas for money. How unkind and cruel he'd been when refused.   
The last telling of her feeling unwell, and then......nothing. They ended. 

The two looked at each other.   
"Do you think this is why she left you the box? So you'd find these? So they wouldn't be destroyed?" Clara breathed.  
Luke was thoughtful.  
"Clara.....I know I have an active imagination, to say the least, but is it possible I'm reading too much into this?.......I mean, Miss Briggs never mentioned the nephew to me.....never."  
"But you're thinking he may have killed his mother......for her money? Or at least Miss Briggs thought he might have done, and she wanted someone to discover the truth?"   
Luke nodded.   
Clara sat round to face him.   
"I think we should do some checking on the sleazy Raymond.....he gave me a business card, when he kindly invited me to his hotel room!"   
"We'll go to the library tomorrow, I'll look in the archive at old newspaper articles. There may have been a report on her death, that will give more information. I know roughly when to look, because the death certificate gave the dates and times."  
"And I'll check Companies House......find out about some of his business details. Luke, you do realise this could be dangerous. If we find anything, we'll have to go back to Inspector Jackson."  
"Of course.......and you do realise......he might have killed Miss Briggs too."  
Clara's heart froze.  
"No, but wait." She said," he can't have done.....he was in France......he told me."   
Luke frowned.  
"So he says. But how do we know that's true?"  
"God. Luke, this thing becomes more and more grubby. We've opened a can of worms, and no mistake!"


	17. Raymond.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke and Clara do some sleuthing.........

RAYMOND.

At the end of a productive morning trawling through old newspaper articles, and the Internet.   
Over coffee the duo compared notes.  
Anyone observing them would conclude that they were as thick as thieves, but they hardly noticed other people around them at all.   
Wrapped up in their findings, the thrill of the chase, talking animatedly together across the table, leaning in, as they discussed what they'd found.  
Luke began first....  
"Pamela Palmer was found unconscious in her bed, at home. By the cleaning lady.  
She died later in hospital. Seems like a diabetic coma, caused by too much insulin. There was an autopsy, and an inquest.......death by misadventure......but there can't have been anything suspicious.....or surely they'd have found it?"   
"So they think she killed herself? An overdose of insulin? By mistake or by design?"  
"No idea," Luke replied. "It didn't say in the report, but there was no mention of suicide, a note or anything like that. Maybe she just got the dose wrong....it happens."  
"What about Raymond?"  
"Well, the article mentioned he'd been in France at the time and that he'd returned home for the funeral etc, and that he inherited everything."   
"France again.....hmmm, his being in France comes at very convenient times, don't you think?"   
"Yes. But it could be just that. A coincidence. No one would be able to convict him of murder now, even if he did do it. Too much time has passed. Even exhuming the body, it wouldn't be conclusive."   
"Let me tell you what I found from Companies House.....our Raymond is a bit of a rogue by all accounts. His company 'Palmer Holdings' was in serious financial difficulties around the time of his mother's death. Two years before, he'd been declared bankrupt, but had started up again under a different name. His inheritance saved him. But it didn't last, the profit and loss figures for the last tax year show he is barely keeping his head above water, the money from his aunt would be throwing him a very timely life jacket."  
"I think we should pay Raymond a visit. On the pretext of finding the letters to Albert......we could say we wondered if he'd like them, as they are so personal.....that she'd talked to me about Albert, as I'd shown an interest. So that's why I think she left them to me ......what do you think?"  
"Luke, I like the way you're thinking......if we can get anything out of him, then we should go back to the Inspector.....take the Palmer letters, hand them over to him, see what he thinks.....he'll probably think we're nuts again.....but we've got nothing to lose." 

The door of 72, Winchester Road, was opened by a rather frazzled looking Raymond Palmer.  
"You?" He barked, clearly irritated.  
"Do excuse us." Luke began, politely. "We went to the hotel, and they said we might find you here."  
"What do you want? He answered, briskly.  
"May we come in?" Luke pressed, with a smile.  
"I suppose. But I'm incredibly busy.....there's a lot to see to."  
"We won't keep you long." Clara flashed a smile." But we have something and we thought.....well, we thought we'd pop by."  
The nephew backed inside, opening the door wider, allowing them to walk in.   
"The hand is no better I see." Luke remarked, eyeing the plaster.  
"It's infected." He replied, touching it with his other hand." Bloody nuisance, I've got antibiotics for it now."   
"Now, what was it you came for?"  
Clara fidgeted.  
"Raymond, please excuse me, but I couldn't quickly use the bathroom, could I?"  
"Top of the stairs, second on the right."  
"Thanks so much!"  
Clara hurried upstairs, she could hear Luke speaking, suggesting they move through to the lounge.  
Passing the bathroom door she crept along the landing, peeping into the rooms, careful not to go into the room above the lounge itself.  
A poke around revealed nothing, but hanging on the bannister was Raymond's overcoat, which he'd abandoned as he sorted through his aunt's goods and chattels.  
She went through the pockets.  
Two or three ticket stubs, some receipts, little else.   
Then something caught her eye.   
A train ticket......from Portsmouth, dated on the very day Miss Briggs went missing.   
Clara's mouth went dry.  
She couldn't take it......it would not be evidence if she pocketed it and handed it to the police.   
So she took photos of all the stubs and the receipts, as well as the train ticket, on her mobile and replaced everything carefully exactly as she'd found it.  
Into the bathroom, she flushed the chain, and made her way back downstairs.  
Her heart was pounding in her chest.   
The conversation between Raymond and Luke was just drawing to a close.  
"Well, if you're sure you don't want them." Luke was saying.  
Clara joined them in the living room.  
"Sorry about that." She smiled what she hoped was a winning smile.   
Luke turned to her....."Mr Palmer is happy that I keep the letters."   
"Really? Oh that is kind.....we didn't know what to do when we found them.....thought you should at least have the chance of keeping them if you wished, as you're family."  
"There was nothing else in the box?" Raymond asked, his smile fading into something of a simper.  
"Only a couple of trinkets and a fountain pen. But the box is rather a nice one, it's a little memento I'll treasure. Well....." Luke answered noncommittally. "We mustn't keep you any longer. Come along Clara. Let's leave Mr Palmer in peace. I'm sure he has a great deal to do." 

Not till they'd rounded the corner, did Clara grab Luke's arm.  
"You'll never guess what I found!" She exclaimed.  
"We've got to go straight to Inspector Jackson.....now!!"  
She told him about the ticket stub, showed him the pictures she'd taken.   
"He'd have to be pretty stupid, not to throw the stub away though, surely?"  
Clara considered.  
"Oh, I don't know. How many times do you just shove things in your pockets.....without a thought? It's human frailty to become complacent too.....especially if you think you've got away with one murder already!"  
"What did you two talk about, while I was upstairs?"  
"Oh, he was telling me how he used to go over to the park with his aunt and her various dogs, all called Bertie......from Albert I suppose......when he was younger."  
Clara stopped dead.  
Pulled Luke to a standstill beside her.  
"He said that?" Her face blanched.   
Luke looked at her curiously.  
"But......on the day of the funeral.......when you rescued me from his dubious clutches.....he said he didn't know the area at all........never been here. That's what he said.   
Asked me to show him round. Why would he lie?"  
"To chat you up? Get you to go out with him? I don't know! He's a creep!"   
"Or because he didn't want me to know he'd been here before, because he's got something to hide."   
"If he told the police he was in France, how does he have a ticket for that same day? Presumably the police checked his story......I mean, think about it......aunt dies mysteriously, he must have been a suspect, he inherits everything for goodness sake. That's a serious motive for killing someone, particularly if you're in debt."   
"Luke, I don't like this one bit. We're going to see Jackson, right away."


	18. One Step Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke and Clara return to the police.......

ONE STEP AHEAD. 

"God! Not you two again!"  
Inspector Jackson rubbed his face with his hands.  
"What is it this time? Miss Scarlett, in the library, with the candlestick?"  
"Not quite, but in some ways, not far off."   
Clara and Luke sat on the opposite side of the desk and told their latest story, handing over the bundle of letters from the cherry wood box.  
He listened quietly, tutting from time to time and shaking his head.  
Clara began, "Look, I know it all seems far fetched Inspector, but...."  
He held up one hand, to silence her,  
"Now just stop right there little lady!" He cautioned.....  
"You've forced my hand, and I'm going to take you into my confidence......and if either of you breathe a word, be assured, there will be consequences!"  
Luke opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it shut, as he and Clara exchanged glances.  
"We've not been completely idle......the police might not swan around like Bonnie and Clyde like you two, but we do get things done.....sometimes."  
He yawned, then continued,  
"Mr Raymond Palmer has come under our radar before. He was investigated when his mother died. I pulled the old files. Had a read. Didn't like it one bit. Stunk to high heaven, if you ask me.  
However, wasn't my case, too long ago.  
But we've been doing some digging.......and we've found, just this morning as a matter of fact, that our loving nephew has a house on the Normandy coast, and a friend with a fishing boat!"   
"Oh my God!" Clara's hands flew to her mouth.   
"Officers are on their way to Winchester Road, as we speak.....in fact it's just as well for you two that you're out of the way. We're bringing him in for questioning."  
"Thank goodness." Luke sighed.  
"Now then.....here's what I want you both to do......I want you to go home.....stay well away from everything......and keep your mouths shut, leave the rest to us........  
Yes, you've been very helpful, and very clever, but it's a police matter now, and we'll handle it....have I made myself clear?"  
"Crystal. Inspector. And thank you."  
The officer shook hands with them both, and they rose to leave.   
"Quite a pair you two make," he smiled," like Tommy and Tuppence!!"  
"Hardly!" Clara laughed, "Tommy was a bit of a wuss and Tuppence was insufferable."  
"I rest my case!" The Inspector retorted, and roared with laughter. 

 

"Well! That's that then! Nothing we can do now." Clara huffed, as Luke hailed a taxi.   
He sat back in the seat, thoughtful. His brow furrowed.  
"You alright Luke?"  
"Clara?" He cried suddenly, making her jump, " Do you possess such a thing as an evening dress?"  
"You mean a posh frock? Yes, I do......why?"  
"Because I'd like to take you somewhere nice.....by way of a thank you."  
"Oooooo!!" She rubbed her hands together with glee, " Somewhere where I put my hair up and wear a posh frock?"  
"Yes. Somewhere like that."   
"Somewhere flamboyant and decadent and ostentatious?"  
Her brown eyes sparkled.   
"Yes. Somewhere just like that." 

Moments later Clara was deposited at her front door, with instructions that a car would call for her at 6.30pm sharp.   
Her excitement was ridiculous.   
It was SO long since she'd really dressed to the nines, and felt good about wanting to do so, felt good about herself generally, come to that.   
Bang on time, she saw the car arrive.  
Luke stepped out, and held the door for her.  
He was in an evening suit, with a crisp white shirt, bow tie.....the whole works.  
"Oh my word! Don't you scrub up well!" She said, taking his hand and climbing into the back.  
"I just LOVE a man in a tuxedo!"  
All Luke could do was stare......mouth open, eyebrows raised.  
"What? What's the matter?" She queried.  
"You look......STUNNING Clara!"   
She giggled.  
"What this old thing?"   
Off the shoulder black satin, her hair piled up and clipped, curls at the sides framing her face.   
Her lovely eyes were emphasised with kohl eyeliner, and she wore small pearl drop earrings.  
The pair were deposited at Victoria station.  
Clara frowned.  
"I haven't got to walk far have I? Not in these bloody heels?"  
"No, we're just going to platform one," he smiled, mischievously.  
He held out an arm for her to take, as they walked across the concourse.  
Clara gasped aloud when she saw it.  
"Oh! Luke.......you didn't! YOU DIDN'T!" Oh my lord!"   
The Orient Express stood waiting.   
Knots of people resplendent in beautiful evening dress were boarding, talking excitedly, prior to departure.  
"AGH!....This is on my bucket list.....!" She whispered, "how could you possibly know that?"  
Her eyes on organ stops as they took their seats in Pullman chairs in the wonderful Art Deco carriage. Beautiful varnished wood panelling. Tables with little lamps on each.  
Linen table cloths and napkins. The chairs covered in fabrics from Liberty.....it was like stepping back in time, and she absolutely loved it.   
The waiter brought Laurent Perrier champagne and canapés.  
Clara just could not stop staring around her in utter disbelief, as the train began to pull out of the station.   
She felt her blood pumping with adrenaline, wide eyed in wonder, trying to commit every tiny nuance to memory, store it away, hold on to it as long as she could.   
"I can't believe you've bought me here......it's the coolest thing ever.....and it must have cost you an absolute fortune."   
"I thought, in view of our sleuthing, that 'The Dinner' on the Orient Express was highly appropriate." Luke beamed, he held aloft his glass.  
"To Tommy and Tuppence....." He announced.  
They both laughed together. 

Engine running, Luke told the cabbie to wait.  
He walked Clara to her front door, waiting patiently while she rummaged for her keys.  
"Luke! Thank you so much for this evening. It was really really special. I can't tell you how much I enjoyed it."  
"Really?"  
"Really. I also can't imagine how much money it must have cost!"   
"It's not about the money, the money's not important." He shrugged.   
"Not when you've got loads it isn't!" She chuckled. "Well, it was wonderful, I'll never forget it as long as I live. It was just what I needed, it's made me feel alive again."  
His bashful little smile was so disarming as he shuffled slightly on the spot, looking determinately down at his shoes.  
It took Clara a second to make up her mind.  
Going up on her tip toes she held the lapels of his jacket, pulling him down towards her.   
Her lips brushed his, just momentarily, then moved away, as if to gauge his reaction.   
He was looking into her face, open and honest, his fingers reaching to touch his mouth where her lips had been, as if she burned him.   
The initial shock faded and turned to something else........what was it?  
Disbelief? Wonder?   
Clara wasn't sure, but before she could decide, his palm was against her cheek, cupping around it, his thumb at the corner of her mouth.  
"Oh, Clara." He murmured faintly and this time bought his mouth to hers.   
The kiss was tentative, almost a whisper, so timid, his eyes fluttered closed for a second, then he pulled back.   
Breathing hard, swallowing thickly, the touch on her face falling away.   
"Goodnight Luke." She said softly. "Call me tomorrow, yeah?"  
He nodded, seemingly struck dumb.  
Waiting, unmoving, as she opened her door and stepped inside. Closing it behind her. Held in thrall.   
Several seconds passed before the cabbie sounded his horn, breaking the spell, and he turned away, hurrying down the path.


	19. Moving Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara and Luke both do some serious thinking.......  
> Big news is revealed........

MOVING FORWARD.

Clara kicked off her high heels and pushed them aside. Threw her bag onto the chair in the hall and made her way through to the kitchen.  
Leaned against the counter as she waited for the kettle to boil.  
Her mind was racing.   
What just happened?  
Her insides were churning, there was a pain; a fear thrill, like the feeling when you look over a precipice, and have that first twinge of vertigo, it lodged deep in her chest.   
An image of Danny swam into view, must be the champagne, she reasoned......he seemed so close, and yet she knew he was moving further away.   
She was SO confused right now.  
What was she feeling?   
Honestly, she didn't know and that scared her.   
What DID she know exactly?   
Dunking the tea bag absentmindedly she pondered the events of the last few weeks.   
She knew she liked Luke Wakefield. That was a given.  
He was a nice man. He made her smile, laugh even......and it had been a while since anyone had done that.   
In the days following the funeral he'd taken care of her so wonderfully, when she was at her very lowest ebb.   
She knew he was her friend, when she had no one else.   
Somehow, he had cast aside his own inner demons, and been a rock for her to cling to, and, oh God, how she'd needed that rock!   
She'd clung to it as if it were life itself.   
Every bit as needy as he considered himself......more even.   
He knew him to be handsome, not classically so, but pleasing to the eye.   
There was a certain vulnerability about him, that attracted her, probably similar to that which drew her towards Danny. But where Danny's fragility stemmed from the dreadful things he'd seen and done as a soldier, with Luke it was different.   
Luke's susceptibility sprung right from his birth.....always belittled, told he wasn't good enough, not wanted, inadequate, a failure.  
Eventually he'd come to believe it.   
She knew he was rich, beyond any dream that she had ever come close to, waking or sleeping.   
Yet it bought him nothing. He frittered away his time, became more and more lonely and insular. Depressed and solitary.   
Money was nothing. It wasn't important. That's what he'd said, and she hadn't taken the meaning at the time.  
'It's not about the money'......they were his exact words, and now she saw his meaning clearly.   
It was about pleasing her.   
Making her smile.   
Because it made him happy, and, she was sure, he would have tried to do that, money or not.  
Just as he had with Connie, but failed.   
She sipped her tea, plonking herself unceremoniously onto her sofa.   
She wondered what Luke himself was thinking at that precise moment.

The journey from Clara's place to his own, passed in a blur.  
Luke paid the driver. Crossed the forecourt and entered his building.  
The porter had long since gone home and the block was empty and silent.  
Once inside his own front door, he took a deep breath and blew it out through his lips.  
His heart was still hammering against his ribs. Thudding like a piston.   
Pouring himself a small scotch, he sipped thoughtfully, before wandering into his bedroom and pulling off his tie.   
She kissed him.   
SHE kissed HIM.........he could still feel the pull of her little hands on his lapels.   
He hadn't been expecting it, not prepared......but it was like a grenade going off in his head.   
He tried to recall Connie's kisses, even Richard's........nope......no grenades there, not even so much as a paper bag bursting.   
What did it all mean?   
Clara told him she wasn't looking for a relationship.   
Her words.   
Friends.   
They were friends, and that thought filled him with such joy.   
He actually possessed a friend. Someone liked him for who he was.   
Purely and simply.   
But this? .......this was more.   
This was her kissing him, so tenderly, and him responding.....wishing he could do it again....and again, this was a feeling inside him that he might actually burst with the wonder of it.   
Had he ever actually experienced this in his life before?   
No, he hadn't.   
Ever.  
The lightheadedness, the blood coursing through him, the sensation of being actually on fire.  
Luke undressed himself slowly. Stepped into the shower. The water refreshing yet soothing.   
He crawled into his bed that night, feeling a strange, nervous tingling in every fibre, a sensation wholly new and alien to him.   
He slept like a log. 

There still remained a few days of Clara's sick leave.  
Really she felt she ought to be back at work already, it was a concept she was not comfortable with......being off, when really there was nothing she considered wrong with her.   
She felt extremely lazy, as if she were skiving.   
On this particular morning she'd woken after eight. Late for her.   
Padding around in her onesie and slippers, she yawned expansively and scratched her hand through her hair, idly flicking on the television as she cut up some fruit in preparation for blitzing into a morning smoothie.   
Weather forecast......  
Local news....

"POLICE HAVE CHARGED A MAN WITH THE MURDER OF MRS AGNES BRIGGS A LOCAL LIBRARIAN, WHO WAS FOUND STRANGLED IN WOODLAND MORE THAN A MONTH AGO.   
The Inspector in charge of the case, Phillip Jackson, is expected to make a statement within the next hour........"

Clara, almost dropped the knife in shock.....she reached for her mobile, then thought better of it.  
Dashing to her bedroom she grabbed jeans and a T Shirt, pushed her feet into her trainers, snatched up her handbag and bolted outside to hail a taxi.   
She reached Kensington West Tower within fifteen minutes......paying the cab, running across the forecourt and into the building.  
The porter raised his head, surprised as she burst through the doors.  
The lift bell pinged, just as she was rushing across towards it.   
Slowly the door slid open.......Luke came flying out, pink and flustered, pushing an arm into his jacket as he did so.   
"LUKE!! " Clara cried.......running towards him.  
"CLARA!.......DID YOU HEAR THE NEWS? I WAS COMING TO SEE YOU!" his voice echoed across the open foyer.   
Clara kept on running........she flung herself into his arms and he lifted her clean off the floor, her feet in the air, spinning her round.   
Clasping her so tight, her own arms around his neck.  
For a moment mirthful laughter pealed out, then their lips came crashing together, hungrily, passionately, the one exploring the other, almost jousting for control, in a deep long kiss. Gradually Luke lowered her to the ground, their mouths still connected, a little sound coming from her as he pulled her ever closer, and renewed his assault, breaking eventually only for want of air, both looking into the others shining face, as if seeing each other for the first time.   
Breathless and beaming, basking in delight.   
The porter, standing at his desk the whole time, with a ringside view, remarked soberly, with a knowing wink....  
"So........definitely still just friends then?"   
They both turned towards him, only now fully aware of his presence.  
" No......don't say it!......I know! None of my business!"   
"Shut up!" Giggled Clara.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to have a spinny hug.......it's my nod to the series Nine trailer....!! Forgive me!!


	20. Trials and Tribulations.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raymond Palmer's trial begins.....

TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS.

Rain fell in torrents as Luke and Clara arrived for the beginning of the trial of Mr Raymond Palmer.   
Neither expected to be called to give evidence unless it proved absolutely necessary, as The Crown Prosecution felt they had a strong case.   
Mainly due to the diligent work of Inspector Jackson and their team.   
Clara's co workers were alternating working shifts, so that they could all attend the proceedings from time to time.   
Although she herself was glad to be back at work, she was beginning to feel that her days at the library were numbered.   
It was a lovely working environment but it was not enough for Clara to feel fulfilled.   
She voiced her feelings to Luke as they sat together in his kitchen that evening.   
"I'm a teacher Luke. I loved my job, and I feel I should be back there.....doing it. But I'm just not sure."  
His reply was an astonishingly astute one.  
"Then why not think outside the box? Don't go back to Coal Hill, don't go back to angst ridden teenagers, why not look elsewhere, maybe teaching younger children, say at Infant or Junior level?"   
"For that, you deserve a kiss." She smiled.  
She reached over the kitchen counter, and touched her lips to his.  
"Nope, not good enough!" He chuckled, " my brilliant idea deserves far better than that."  
With that he grabbed her waist, pulling her towards him, and gave her the kiss he felt he warranted.  
They broke, but he still held her close. Her arms threaded around his middle, head resting on his chest.   
She sighed.  
"What was that for?" He enquired.  
"Oh....I don't know, just a contented sigh I guess." She replied, muffled in the fabric of his shirt.   
"Clara? You are okay with this, aren't you? Only I don't want to rush you into something you're not ready for."   
"Luke. I'm absolutely fine. We've kissed. We've cuddled. It's nice. You're nice. You're not rushing me into anything. I like being with you. If you're fine with that, then so am I."  
"Gosh......I'm more than fine. Having you here......like this.......I keep pinching myself that it's true.   
I'm terrified of course, but that goes with the territory."  
She raised her head, to look at him.  
"Terrified? Why?"  
"Oh Clara....you know me! Terrified I'll muck up. Do something wrong, say something wrong. Make a fool of myself, be an idiot......you name it! I have a list!"   
"You are such a dear. Do you know that? Listen.....you just keep doing what you're doing and it'll be fine okay? We're doing great."  
She kissed him again and the warmth of it seemed to flow over and around him, leaving him flushed and breathless.   
"You're a great kisser." She teased, "a REALLY great kisser!" 

Mrs Wentworth of 74, Winchester Road, described the last time she saw her neighbour, set off towards her usual walking route with Bertie trotting along at her side.   
They'd passed the time of day, as normal.   
No, she'd said nothing whatever about going away, nor had she cancelled her milk, and she'd owed seven pounds. Mrs Wentworth paid the milkman.  
Yes, she had a key, to go in and water the plants if her neighbour was away, not that she was, often.   
Occasionally she'd gone in to feed the dog, if Miss Briggs was out for a long period of time, no, that wasn't often either.   
She hadn't seen the Defendant at any time, during that time. Not until the funeral. Nor had she met him before.  
Tucking her arms over her ample chest, the old lady stepped down. 

After lunch, the Doctor who performed the autopsy was sworn in.  
Miss Briggs injuries were consistent with a scuffle taking place, several bruises and marks on the upper arms, defence injuries he surmised.  
Luke dropped his head and sniffed.  
Clara enclosed his hands in her own where they lay folded in his lap.  
"She fought for her life." He whispered, and his voice hitched.   
There was little other trauma apart from the marks around the neck, consistent with strangulation with the silk scarf she was wearing, which was ultimately the cause of death.   
Sniffing again, Luke wiped his eyes.   
The image of that lovely lady, with whom he'd had so many friendly conversations, breathing her last, there, alone in those woods, was a disturbing one. 

A second doctor was then called to the witness box. This time a General Practitioner from a surgery close to the hotel where Raymond Palmer had been staying since his aunt's death.   
Yes, Mr Palmer had visited him, for treatment on a wound on his hand.   
The doctor estimated the laceration to be at least one or two days old.   
No, the wound was not consistent with a crush injury caused by a car door.   
In the Doctor's professional opinion, if he were pushed, he would consider that the injury was the result of an animal bite, or similar trauma.   
An audible gasp reverberated around the courtroom.   
Following hard on the testimony of the youngsters who discovered the body of the dog, Bertie, which had been given out of court, bearing in mind their ages.   
The Veterinary Surgeon was then called and described the animal as having received massive trauma to the head, by a blunt instrument, possibly a rock or similar. 

So ended that day.   
It was a very subdued Luke Wakefield, that made his way back to Kensington that evening.   
Clara had purchased copies of local newspapers and teacher's journals, to look for jobs, after he'd dropped her home, but seeing his sombre expression, she decided to broach the subject.  
"How about I come to your apartment, and do my job hunting? Maybe we could just watch telly and have a bite to eat together?"   
He brightened visibly.  
"Would you? Oh yes please. I'll make us something nice to eat."   
Clara smiled inwardly.......she could read him like a book.  
She knew very well, that what he would really like was for her never to go back to her own place at all......but she wasn't quite ready for that yet......maybe one day.   
But not just yet.


	21. Affirmation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected sensation in the courtroom leaves Luke feeling sad and low.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating goes up to M for this one.......smoochie smoochie time.......!

AFFIRMATION. 

Each day Luke attended the trial. Clara joined him when she could.  
The evidence against Raymond Palmer was stacking up.  
The ticket stubs and receipts were still in his coat pockets when the police pulled him in.  
One of these was for a late night shop in town. The Inspector made sure one of his officers checked the date and time.  
There, captured on CCTV was the man himself, buying water and a sandwich.  
Which proved that he was not only monumentally stupid but confirmed that he was most definitely in the country at the time Miss Briggs was killed. 

The sensation of that day in the courtroom was that Palmer changed his plea from Not Guilty to Guilty, in the hope of a reduced sentence.  
He knew the game was up.  
Leaving the courthouse at the end of that day, Luke expected to feel triumphant.  
But he did not.  
Listening to the horror of the evidence each day, profoundly affected him.  
He felt deeply saddened.  
On reaching home, his first thought was to call Clara.  
His voice on the phone sounded wretched, so disconnected, just like the old Luke.  
She knew immediately that something wasn't right.  
"Luke? I'm coming over. I'll be there in half an hour." 

A bottle of wine stood empty on the coffee table. A second, opened, beside it.  
Clara was seated cross-legged on the floor, glass in hand; her job applications, CV and various adverts and journals spread out on the rug in front of her.  
She cajoled Luke into reading through them with her, a ploy which she hoped might distract him from his melancholy.  
His head and shoulders bowed, despondent, low in spirit.  
Sitting with his back resting against the sofa, legs stretched out in front of him, he refilled his glass, and heaved a sigh.  
"It's all been a bit much, this last week or so, hasn't it?" She ventured.  
He nodded. A slight tremor in his chin.  
Clara knelt up, moving across, shuffling closer to him.  
She settled herself between his legs and cuddled into him, sinking back against his chest.  
He bent his legs round awkwardly to fold them under her knees, arms snaked around her, holding her tight, drawing her as close to his body as he could.  
Clara could feel the thud of his heart, against her spine.  
The wine coursing through her veins made her feel warm and pleasantly mellow.  
His pale arms met and crossed just below her collarbones, his long fingers resting on her upper arms, squeezing gently.  
A long slow breath left him, and she felt his head droop, so that his cheek touched her temple,  
nuzzling there gently.  
Clara turned herself in his embrace, so that she could look at him.  
Eyes closed, tears leaking out from under his lashes.  
"Luke, please don't cry, we can't bring her back, I know, but she will get justice, she will."  
She rested her head back against him, and he pulled her even closer, sniffing quietly.  
"This is nice." She whispered, after a few moments. "Us.....like this, this feels so good."  
"Mmmmm." He murmured by way of a response.

When Danny was taken from her, it was the thing she missed most......the closeness, the sense of togetherness, warmth and comfort, much more than the sex.  
"I feel comfortable here, with you. Like this." She added, softly.  
Luke pressed his body into hers. She could feel him, flaccid and soft against her lower back.  
Whatever his own interpretation of their relationship was, sex didn't come into it, she thought, idly.  
But no. It was so much more than that.  
There was a bond between them. A deep attachment.  
She never really felt it with Danny, and she was quite certain he hadn't experienced it with his ex-wife.  
Right now he was peering down at her, as if trying to read her expression.  
Luke knew exactly how he felt.  
He was infatuated, completely and utterly lost, but he had absolutely no idea how to tell her.  
"Clara......you're so wonderful." Was all he could manage.  
Her hand came up to his face, drifting across the cheekbone, down to his chin, thumb at the corner of his mouth.  
"Take me to bed, Luke." She said, gently, "let me lie next to you, while you hold me close. Let me fall asleep with you there, where I can hear you breathing, feel your heartbeat......please?"  
No words.  
He had none.  
Relinquishing his hold on her, he allowed her to rise, before standing himself.  
Her little hand held out for him to take.  
Leading him, not tugging, not forcing, just a guiding pressure of her fingers on his.  
Motionless he stood beside the bed, arms by his sides, unsure what to do next.  
Should he undress? Leave his clothes on? Should he kiss her now?  
His confusion evident, she reached up and slowly, deliberately unfastened the buttons on his shirt, freeing it from his waistband and pushing it back, off from the shoulders and down his arms. Laying it aside. His eyes following her every movement, darting from her busy fingers to her face, then back again.  
Her own jumper lifted over her head, leaving just her bra, she took his hand again and climbed in among the covers, silently entreating him to follow.  
Once settled, laying on her side, face to face with him, she curled into his warmth, skin on skin, and a blissful hum of pleasure left her.  
Her intention had been to drift into a restful slumber, his hand circling on her back, a gentle motion, up to her shoulder blades, then down to her waist.  
But when she chanced a glance at him, she found his eyes wide open, staring into hers, a mute inquiry.  
"What is it Luke?"  
She tried to gauge from that look, the question he couldn't bring himself to voice.  
"Tell me."  
"I don't know what to do." His gaze cast down.  
"Luke......I've told you, you don't have to do anything. That's not what this is about."  
He raised his eyes again, looking at her through his long lashes.  
"I don't want to go to sleep."  
"Then we won't.....we'll talk, do whatever you feel comfortable with. There are no rules, nothing you HAVE to do, there is nothing expected of you here. Okay?"  
He nodded, then hesitated, pulled back, embarrassed, crippled with shyness.  
"I.......I can't say.......it's always been behind closed doors, all this stuff......with Connie especially, I always felt so uncomfortable......"  
"I'm not Connie. You can talk to me, tell me what you need, I won't make fun of you, I won't laugh, nor will I be angry or upset, tell me what you want, Luke."  
"I want.....I want to know how not to feel so......so.....exposed. I want to be able to take my clothes off in front of you and not feel like I should be ashamed. I mean, I never once undressed in front of Connie.....ever. I want to be able to do.......what I've seen people do on TV.....get into the bath or shower together and be relaxed, or be in bed, naked, and be at ease.......how do I do those things Clara? Tell me.......for Gods sake, because I've never felt that I could remotely feel happy doing those things, and, as for.......thi.......sex.......well......I just can't even....."  
"You put so much pressure on yourself Luke.....be this! be that! be a husband! be a man! be gay! be straight.........how about just be yourself?"  
"I don't know how."  
Clara released herself from his arms. Slid across the bed, standing up beside it.  
He watched her intently, eyes widening, as she unfastened her skirt and let it drop, stepped out of her tights and underwear, and stood before him, nude.  
"This is me. Luke. This is what I am. No more, no less. A woman, with a body, it's not a dirty thing, nor is it bad, or wrong. Come over here......come and stand by me."  
She held out her hand to him.  
Flushed, and reluctant, not knowing where to set his eyes, he came to her side.  
"Look at me Luke. Don't look at me as a body, look at me as a person, I'm Clara. Look at me!"  
Reaching towards him, she took his hands, placed them on her hips, holding them there.  
"Now let me see you. Let me see who Luke Wakefield is."  
Gently she moved her hands to his belt, unfastening it, then the waist button and fly.  
Helping him out of his trousers, he stood before her, feet bare already, just in his boxers.  
There was a moments hesitation, where she thought he might bolt for the bathroom, but she held his gaze and he slowly removed them, letting them fall and stepping clear.  
She smiled.  
"Hello, Luke Wakefield. I'm Clara Oswald. You are beautiful." She whispered.  
"And you are the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen in my life." His voice was filled with emotion he sought to suppress.  
Stock still, hands resting back on her hips, fingers digging in slightly. Flaccid, completely unaroused. Almost shaking with the effort of just standing there before her with nothing on.  
Clara climbed back into the bed, and held the coverlet open for him to rejoin her.  
Laying on her back, he crawled under the wing of her outstretched arm, bringing his head to lay against her chest, her hand gently running through his mop of hair, soothing, comforting.  
Within fifteen minutes they were both sleeping soundly. 

Clara was dreaming.  
A haze of a memory, a scene viewed as if through a muslin screen.  
Lying somewhere delightful, completely cocooned, surrounded by a softness and a gentle heat.  
A man's beaming face, it was Danny........or was it?  
She wasn't sure.  
In the dream he seemed to shimmer, like a desert mirage. Indistinct.  
He whispered something, but it wasn't Danny's voice, it was Luke's.  
Her eyes snapped open.  
Curled up on her side, Luke was spooned behind her, his head resting against the back of her neck.  
Arm slung casually over her middle.  
His knees drawn up and tucked in behind her own.  
She could feel him, rock hard against her backside..........hang on a moment.......  
Was this still the dream?  
In his sleep he shifted slightly, murmuring something she couldn't quite catch, then he pressed himself into her again.  
His heat like an electric shock.  
"Clara!"  
His eyes opened slowly, she'd turned her head to look at him, just as the duel realisation of their sleeping position, and his physical state hit him.  
She turned over, gave him a reassuring smile, and kissed him gently.  
She made to pull back, but he was having none of it, pressing himself closer, drawing her lip into his mouth as he strengthened their connection.  
"Clara." Her name was all he seemed able to voice coherently.  
He placed his lips delicately on her shoulder, lingered there a moment, then looked to her for a sign of consent.  
She hummed her pleasure and he eased her onto her back. Tasting his way down her body, very slowly, cautiously.  
Then back to her mouth for another careful kiss, as she allowed his hand to roam, where his lips had just been.  
Smoothing down over her breasts, pausing momentarily to feel the nipple, then continuing over her hip bone and the flat of her naval, before reaching the warmth between her legs.  
A forefinger testing in a lazy circular movement, timid at first, then gaining in confidence, causing her to raise her hips towards him and utter a cry.  
Nipping, sucking down her neck, gentle touches with lips and tongue on the collarbone, as she began to writhe beneath him, urging his touch inside her, gasping with each sensation as it pulsed through her.  
"Make love to me Luke.......I need......"  
His mouth stopped hers with another kiss, as she felt him seeking entrance, shifting to push into her, testing her arousal, settling for a moment, before beginning to move inside her, a slow but deliberate rhythm.  
Hips rocking, halting, a little unsure, as if afraid of hurting her.  
"Luke.....ahhh! Oh God! I need you to......"  
Breathing becoming more and more ragged, as he began to fall apart, his eyes wide open, looking down on her, drinking in everything about her, her body, her face, her eyes.  
"I want to see you. Clara. I want to see you."  
Words stammered out between breaths.  
She understood what he meant, he wanted to see her come, know that she'd enjoyed him, know that he had given her pleasure, that she was satisfied.  
That thought alone released a coursing fire through her core, which built rapidly with every forceful stroke of him inside her.  
She arched herself to meet him, letting go a shout of release, that rippled through her and tipped him over the edge.  
"Oh God! Clara......I LOVE YOU. God help me....I do!"  
Pulsing against her, pressing himself as far into her body as he could physically go, his eyes squeezed shut now with the ecstasy of that moment.  
Before collapsing finally, down atop her, gasping for air. Clinging to her as if she might break asunder.  
Smothering her face, neck, hair with kiss after kiss.  
"Well, that was unexpected and a little surprising!"  
She breathed, as together they came down from their mutual high, heartbeats gradually returning to normal.  
"You are a man of hidden talents Luke Wakefield!"  
"I........I don't know what to say.........I don't know what came over me......Clara......I don't......really I don't."  
"I think love came over you Luke, and I'm glad it did......because I love you too. I don't think I really wanted to admit it to myself, but I think I've actually loved you for quite some time."  
She caressed him tenderly, as he rolled from her, onto his back, and lay staring up at the ceiling, a look of confused bliss lingering on his features.  
Clara raised herself on one elbow, her hand smoothing over his pale chest, a smile playing on her lips.  
"So Connie didn't rob you of your cock then?"  
She squealed aloud as he grabbed her by the waist, flipping her over and covering her face with more kisses, tickling her at the same time, making her dissolve into giggles and shrieks at his renewed assault.


	22. Confession.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A phone call interrupts Luke and Clara's new found domesticity .........

THE CONFESSION.

Pillows of Down under her head.   
Clara dozed in a delicious haze of happiness.   
Her body, sweaty, sticky and decidedly post-coital, curled, swathed in a luxurious bubble of contentment.   
Yawning, stretching, she realised Luke was missing.   
She could hear water running......and was that singing?  
Smiling to herself, as she listened to the warbling, surprisingly deep melodic voice, drifting through from the bathroom.   
Flinging back the coverlet, she left her warm burrow and tip-toed across the room.  
Peering around the door, she could see him, his back to her. The water cascading down, steam rising in clouds, as he soaped himself, snatches of his song filtering through and echoing around the tiled enclosure.  
Creeping closer, she slid back the door and quickly hopped inside to join him, before the floor became awash.  
His lyrical meanderings ceased abruptly as she encircled him with her arms, leaning into his back, her hands meeting and clasping around his tummy.  
"God! Clara! You scared the living daylights out of me!"  
Ducking under his left arm, she moved round to the front of him, still close, smiling up at him, as the spray pummelled down onto them both.   
He smoothed back wet strands of stray hair from her face, cupping it in his hands, leaning down and bringing his lips to hers.   
The kiss was not tentative, not timid, but confident, languid and sexy, his tongue exploring, seeking entrance, his mouth working on and against her own.   
Making her whimper, both with surprise and renewed arousal.   
Her arms went around his neck, levering herself upwards, bringing her legs around his body at hip height, crossing her ankles at the small of his back.   
Aligning herself to his rapidly growing erection, before letting herself lower down on to him.   
Her head thrown back as she did so, a cry of pleasure as she took his full length, deep inside, as he braced her up against the tiled wall.  
"Oh Lord!! Clara! AGHHH! " There was no waiting for her climax, no chance for him to even hold off. He came there and then, and he came hard, with a shout. Spilling himself inside her with several loud incantations to the gods above!   
His legs almost giving way under the combination of sheer euphoria and the effort of holding up her body weight.   
Water streaming into his eyes, his hair plastered against his head.  
Breathing as though he'd just run a marathon.   
Slowly she unclasped her legs from him and he restored her gently onto her feet.  
"Did that meet the expectations of what you've seen on the telly?" She giggled.  
"God! Clara......you are......you're just, just so.......I don't even know what the word is.....I can't even articulate right now."   
"Hot? Sexy? Gorgeous?"  
"All of the above!"   
"And you......Luke Wakefield......you have the MOST lovely pert little arse.....I think I've ever had the good fortune to look upon."  
She pinched his butt cheek as he exited the shower cubicle.   
"Ow!! Clara Oswald.....unhand me woman! Just because you've finally got me naked, doesn't mean you can take mean advantage of my rear!!"

Clara contemplated him fondly as he wrapped himself in his robe, towelling his hair vigorously.   
He ran his fingers through it, pushing it backwards, away from his forehead, and she watched it bounce stubbornly back into place.   
"I swear to God, your hair defies gravity." She laughed.  
"It's a bloody nuisance sometimes, " he smiled, " it needs cutting every five minutes."   
"In years to come, when everyone around you is bald, you'll be glad of that head of hair." Clara ruffled it with her hand, it felt so soft and fluffy, like a downy chick.  
"I'll probably go grey, like my father did." He replied, "then I'll look distinguished."  
"You'll look as sexy as hell. That's what you'll look........Now come on, lover boy.......breakfast! I'm absolutely famished." 

The phone rang just as they were finishing.  
It was Inspector Jackson.   
"Mr Wakefield? Luke?"  
"Hello, Inspector, what can I do for you? Yes, tuppence is here with me." He chuckled.   
"Do you want the good news or the bad news?"  
"Wait, Inspector I'll put you on speaker.....so Clara can hear you too."   
"I wanted to ring to let you know. Before you hear it via the media.....   
Raymond Palmer confessed to the killing of his mother yesterday, apparently he administered a hefty dose of insulin, did a flit back to France......same modus operandi as Miss Briggs, and we pretty much know he killed her. Coroner thought she'd given the dose to herself, by mistake, she was a bit confused at the time, complications of her diabetes. That's the good news."  
"Wow! That's a turn up for the books! And the bad?"  
"The bad news is that he tried to commit suicide last night. He's under guard in hospital. The trial will have to be halted, pending a psychiatric report. The defence will want to enter a plea of Manslaughter on the Grounds of Diminished Responsibility.   
I'm expecting a retrial.  
The Crown will still push for a life sentence, but......well, we'll have to wait and see. I just thought you ought to know."   
"Oh God! That's a blow Inspector. It doesn't mean he'll get away with it.....does it?"  
"Highly unlikely. They cannot assess his mental state, three years ago......not now. They can only look at the aunt's murder and his state of mind at that time. My personal opinion is, that he knew exactly what he was doing, but we'll just have to wait on the professionals. A set back, but, there you are, these things happen. I'll speak to you again, if I hear anything."  
Luke hung up. 

"Well, no court today then! What shall we do instead?" He pulled her towards him, nuzzling her neck.   
Clara wriggled from his grasp.   
"I don't know what YOU are going to do.......but I'm going to see if I can't get myself a new job......I've seen two I like the sound of, nearby, an Infants school. I'm going to apply, send my CV......while we're at it......can I suggest something to you Luke?"  
"Okay? What?"  
"Well......look, you don't need a job, I realise that, you don't need the money. But a life of complete idleness is not healthy. Why don't you find out if you can do some sort of volunteer work? No......don't raise your eyebrows! It would give you a purpose, give you a reason to get out of bed in the morning and not stay in your dressing gown all day. Plus you'd be helping a good cause, so you'd feel better about yourself, and you'd be doing some good.......think about it.....okay?"   
Luke frowned.  
"Okay. I'll think about it. I promise."


	23. Endings and Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial is over.... Luke and Clara reflect.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter. 
> 
> Luke's words to Clara are the exact words he uses in the hospital when he visits Connie.

ENDINGS AND BEGINNINGS.

The leaves were beginning to turn, colours changing as the year drew to a close.   
Luke stepped back from the graveside, having placed the bunch of roses against the headstone.  
"Well. That's that then. It's over. What a momentous time it's been."  
Clara took his arm and stood close, shivering slightly in the chill breeze.   
"Do you realise, I have this lady to thank for the fact that you are standing here now?" He remarked, thoughtfully.   
"I do Luke. Do you remember the first time you came into the library and saw me there instead of Miss Briggs?"   
"I'll never forget it as long as I live........the thing I remember most, is your eyes. Seeing them for the first time. I think I was speechless."   
"You were so shy then. I remember thinking how lost you looked."  
"I was lost, Clara. I'd been lost for a long time. What with being Connie Crammed and my run in with Richard and my Crusade, and making phone calls to myself, and running off to the clinic at the drop of a hat. I was such a mess Clara. How did you ever see through all that and take me on?"   
"Luke, if it hadn't been for you, asking questions, being curious, making a fuss, Miss Briggs would hardly have even been missed. Palmer would never have been caught. He'd have got away with it. Because of you he's languishing in Broadmoor. Hopefully for life. You and I happened because of all that."   
"I still can't really believe it sometimes. I can't get my head around how lucky I am to have you.  
I love you Clara Oswald. More than I can say."   
She turned towards him then, and he drew her close, pulling his overcoat around her.  
"I love you too Luke, you've made me so happy, you've given me my life back. After Danny, I was lost too. Every bit as much as you. We've both found ourselves, as well as each other."  
They strolled together, away from the stark marble stone, their hands tightly clasped, down the gravel path....   
Heading home, looking forward to a hot drink and the warmth of the cosy apartment. 

oOo

Crossing the foyer, Luke was surprised once again by the ever present porter, as he popped up from behind his desk, right on cue.   
"One day you'll do that.....and I'll have a heart attack and die.....right here in the middle of the concourse.....and you'll be sorry!" He warned with a wag of his finger.   
"Afternoon Mr W!" He responded cheerily.   
Luke tutted and pressed the lift button.   
Top floor.  
Inside.  
Throwing his keys and jacket aside. He went through into the kitchen with his bags of shopping and began to unpack them.   
Half an hour later, resplendent in his red apron, he was busily ensconced in preparing dinner.  
Glancing up at the clock, he knew she'd be home soon.  
It had been busy at the depot that day.   
Luke was pretty much in charge of the Red Cross Aid Distribution Centre, where he'd worked for the last two years.   
There was always some war torn part of the world that needed the vital supplies that they sent out.   
Tents, mosquito nets, clothing, water, food, medicines.....anything and everything.   
It was hard work sometimes, but it was worthwhile, and although he didn't do full days or work everyday, he enjoyed it immensely.   
He was home in the afternoons before Clara, and would usually have dinner ready when she got in.........sometimes they went out to eat, or went to the cinema or theatre, but mostly they stayed in, curled together to talk about their day, and just be.   
He heard the buzzer go for the front door, and flicked the kettle on as he went out to greet her.   
Bag of books and papers dumped down unceremoniously, she was kicking off her shoes and blowing her out her cheeks, in relief, to be over the threshold and into her own home.   
"Hello, my darling girl! How was your day?"   
"Oh....you know.......same old, same old.....Tiffany Miller was sick all over the classroom floor, and before I could do anything about calling the caretaker, to say 'spillage in aisle three', Gary Stevens slid over in it and hurt himself. Then I dropped tomato soup down myself at lunchtime, and it's left a stain, and we have an OFSTED inspection next week. And the roof in the staff room leaks. Other than that, absolutely nothing happened whatever."   
Luke laughed.   
"Come here Mrs Wakefield!! The kettle has boiled, the dinner is on and it's Friday......."  
He drew his wife towards him and kissed her lovingly.   
"Hmmmm! The dinner smells good! How was your day?"  
"Good! We're sending more stuff out to Malawi. Flight leaves in the morning. All go, all day. But got it all sorted."   
Clara stood in the living room by the picture window, gazing out across the fabulous skyline.   
Her husband came behind her, threading his arms under hers and round to caress the growing swell of her belly."   
"And how is little one?"   
"Little one is kicking and moving all the time......feel him!"   
She placed his hand over the spot, as the undulations of her stomach began anew.   
"Oh my goodness! I can feel him......does it hurt?"   
"No, not really, but it's weird.......like he's trying to get out!!"   
She sighed......and scanned the view again.  
"I'm going to miss this place......."  
"I know, darling, but we can't bring up a baby in a penthouse flat.......I'd be constantly petrified of the balcony. A child needs a garden, room to play.......this is a bachelor pad, it's not in the least child friendly!"   
"You're going to be SUCH a great dad........"  
"It's so exciting, I'll take him for walks, I'll teach him to swim, I'll make him a toboggan......I'll be the best father in the world.........he's not going to hate me, not the way I hated my parents, and with you as his mother, he can't possibly go wrong!"   
"I hate to say this Luke......but you do realise, HE might just be a SHE....?"   
"No matter! She'll be the most loved, the most wanted, little girl there ever was. She'll want for nothing!"  
"You mean you'll spoil her rotten!!........  
........You're going to be a pushover Luke......she'll wrap you round her little finger."  
Clara laughed, as she turned to face him, and he held her close, her baby bump between them.  
"We'll be a proper little family. Just what I've always wanted." He beamed.....  
........"And all because of a sweet old lady called Miss Briggs!"   
Clara sighed happily......  
"We're living the life that her and her Albert should have had......she's given it to us......and we are the luckiest people alive....." 

Fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it.   
> Thank you all so much for reading.   
> Thank you to everyone who sent me kind comments and words of encouragement, your messages mean such a lot and are so appreciated!! Xx


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